Raised to the Third Power
by Iniga
Summary: Semisequel to “Innocence Lost” and “Cyanide.” The war is climaxing, but Voldemort is underestimating something about Harry: his friends. Featuring the Intrepid Trio, still guilty Sirius, still bitter Severus, and everyone’s favorite werewolf.
1. House Arrest

**Raised to the Third Power**

**Disclaimer**: _Not mine, etc._

**Summary**: _Semi-sequel to "Innocence Lost and Found" and "Cyanide." The war is climaxing, but Voldemort is underestimating something about Harry: his friends. A story starring the Intrepid Trio as well as still-guilty Sirius, still-bitter Severus, and everyone's favorite werewolf._

**Note**:_This story was originally posted in July 2001, during the "three-year summer" between the publication of __Goblet of Fire__ and __Order of the Phoenix__. The story is not compliant with the canon created by the last three books in the series. It was re-edited and reposted along with my other 2001-2002 stories in November 2007 to take advantage of better formatting. I've never been overly fond of this story, even when I originally wrote it—but read on, if you must._

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**Part 1**

Ron stared sullenly out the window of the Gryffindor common room. "I wish we could go outside," he said.

"You've only been out of the hospital wing since last night. You'd probably just get tired right away anyway," Hermione pointed out in a manner which was intended to be soothing and matter-of-fact but which came across as superior and annoying.

"We could still go outside and lie by the lake," said Ron even more irritably.

"It's been raining for two days. We'd get wet," answered Hermione. Even Ron had to admit that she had a point there.

"It's raining, but it still gets awfully boring having to stay inside all the time, though," said Harry, trying to see the positions of both of his friends.

"It's better than having the Death Eaters--" Hermione began severely, but Harry cut her off.

"I know, I know. I know that as well as you do. I'm very glad and very grateful that _they_ didn't get inside. I still think it was nicer when _we_ could go outside." Harry was starting to feel irritable as well, although he had less cause to do so than did Ron. He glanced thoughtfully at Ron now. Ron was still glaring out the window. "Did they get Percy out?" he finally asked, not quite remembering why he and Hermione had been avoiding that question. He was sure that they had had a reason. At least, Hermione must have had a reason, because she now raised her eyebrows in disapproval.

Ron nodded, still not taking his eyes away from the pouring rain. "They took him out around four this morning. Mum and Dad and Bill and Charlie left then, too."

"Who's the Secret-Keeper?" Harry asked without thinking.

"He can't tell you that!" Hermione exclaimed, looking even more annoyed with Harry than she had previously. "He can't even tell you if he knows, let alone who it is if he does. Wasn't that the point of dragging his whole family here? So the Death Eaters wouldn't be able to narrow it down?"

Ron caught Harry's eye midway through Hermione's speech. "Much as I'd like to tell you what I do or don't know just to annoy Hermione, she's right." He choked on these last two words, and a look of gloating came into Hermione's brown eyes.

"There's one thing I wonder," she said slowly, after carefully avoiding saying that she'd told Harry so.

"What's that?" asked Ron. "Tell you if you help me with my Potions essay."

"You don't want help, you want me to write it for you."

"So?" Hermione cast her eyes down in exasperation. "What do you wonder?" Ron prompted.

"Never mind."

"All right." Ron turned to Harry and began a cheery discussion of the Chudley Cannons' most recent almost-win, which had occurred a few months earlier.

"Why didn't Percy just stay here?" Hermione blurted out eventually.

Ron's cheeriness fell to the floor with a thud. "Because if You-Know-Who does get in here, most of us he'll just kill. Percy he'd drive mad, or torture real slowly. Something like that."

Hermione's eyes strayed inadvertently to Harry. "Then why . . . ?"

She did not finish the question. She did not need to.

"Dumbledore's got his reasons, I reckon," answered Ron before the silence could stretch into a horribly uncomfortable state. "Maybe there's something Percy's supposed to be doing, wherever he is. But what Harry's supposed to be doing is going to school, here."

"And we have class soon," she added, standing up and looking around for her books, which were already meticulously organized and ready to go.

"Who is it today? Lupin or Ryan?" asked Ron.

"Remus," said Harry with a grin. He never protested attending a Defense Against the Dark Arts class if Remus Lupin was the professor.

"One of these days you're going to call him that during class and he'll have to take points," said Hermione with disapproval.

Harry shrugged. "He'd find a way to give them back."

"No, he wouldn't. He's a good professor. He's very impartial. I mean, he's partial to you because he knew your parents, but he's not partial to Gryffindor."

"All he has to be is partial to me, and, anyway, I'm not going to call him 'Remus' during class." Harry stood up as well.

"Still, I'll be glad when Professor Ryan comes back. She's a good teacher, too, and we don't have to worry about you calling her 'Cynthia.'"

"You don't have to worry about me calling Remus 'Remus,' either. Besides, Ryan's coming back in two days. Remus said so at breakfast."

"That'll make the Slytherins happy," Ron growled. "Of course, they're happy enough as it is. You'd think they'd actually gotten inside the castle."

"The Slytherins _are_ inside the castle," replied Harry dryly.

"You know what I meant. The Death Eaters. They meant to take the whole thing and kill all of us who don't support them, but all they did was make the castle shake a little. I slept through it." Ron grinned as if his ability to sleep had proven that Hogwarts would never fall to the Dark Lord.

"They also got the snakes inside," said Hermione with a shudder. She harbored no special fear of snakes, but the snakes had entered the castle through a portal in her dormitory. Luckily, she and her roommates, along with the rest of the Gryffindors, had been sleeping in the Great Hall that night.

"They're just snakes. If we were in real danger, they would have closed the school or something. Remember how they almost did when the Chamber of Secrets was opened? Besides, now we know what they made Padma do when she was under the Imperius Curse. Put in a portal when she thought she was fixing Parvati's mirror. That's nothing."

"But Ron, I know the teachers and the Aurors have looked, but she could have done all kinds of other things without knowing--" Hermione began to protest, but Harry interrupted.

"We don't want to be late, Hermione."

"Tell that to Ron, he's the one who's still just sitting there."

"We don't want to be late, Ron," Harry obediently repeated.

"All right. As it's Remus." He stood and gathered his books, basking in the joy of Hermione's disapproval at his choice of address for their professor. The three friends made their way to the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom and grinned hello to their professor, who smiled back at them. They were the last to arrive save Neville Longbottom, who had probably forgotten something and run back to get it.

When Neville at last dashed in, mumbling apologies, Professor Lupin cleared his throat and instantly had the attention of the class. "I regret to inform you," he said in a melodious voice, "that there will be no practical lessons in this class for several days. Professor Ryan and I have decided that when a unit is to be divided between us, it will be less detrimental for you if the unit involves written work."

"Sir?" Seamus' hand shot into the air, and Lupin suppressed a smile. He knew exactly what Seamus wanted to say, for Seamus said it each and every time he was given the slightest opportunity.

"Yes, Seamus?"

"Since Professor Ryan is so busy with her duties as an Auror, wouldn't it be better if you took on the position full time? I'm only saying this because I wouldn't want our educations to suffer because of this constant switching of instructors, especially with the OWLs coming up." A speech that would have sounded smarmy and sickening coming from Draco Malfoy sounded only affectionate and teasing coming from Seamus.

Lupin shook his head. "I don't believe your friends in Slytherin House would approve of that." Seamus and Dean both snorted loudly, and most of the rest of the class snickered. Lupin would allow the non-standard classroom behavior to go just so far, however, and his voice took on a commanding edge. "Take out your quills." The students rushed to obey.

"We are going to discuss the properties of Loyalty Oaths. Loyalty Oaths are generally not considered to be as relevant to the study of Defense Against the Dark Arts as are the spells you need to avoid a Dark creature or the ability to avoid or fight a curse or a hex. They only work in rare circumstances, they are difficult to test, they are difficult to perform, they can lead to unpleasant confrontations between the performers, and they can be inconsistent even under the best circumstances.

"Loyalty Oaths are generally divided into three categories. Can anyone tell me one of them?"

The class was silent. Even Hermione did not know the answer.

"Can anyone tell me why Harry is alive? What we understand of why Harry is alive, at any rate?" Lupin asked in a perfectly normal tone of voice, as if it was not unusual to have the object of discussion and subject of many Dark Arts textbooks sitting before him. In truth, after all, it wasn't unusual for him to teach a class which included Harry Potter; and at breakfast he had sought Harry out and asked for permission to discuss him by name.

Hesitantly, reluctantly, the hands of the class members rose in the air. "Dean?" asked Lupin, picking a student at random.

"His mother wouldn't get out of the way and let You-Know-Who kill him?" Dean mumbled.

"That's correct." Harry saw Lupin send a quick glance in his direction to see if he was handling the discussion well. Harry tried to smile in response; he knew that Lupin did not want to talk about Lily Potter's death any more than he himself did. "That is the most famous, most recent, and most powerful example of a Blood Oath. A Blood Oath is a Loyalty Oath that can only be cast on a direct relative of the person doing the casting. Direct descendants, siblings, aunts, uncles, nieces, nephews, and first cousins for certain. Sometimes they will work on second cousins or great aunts, a connection of that nature, but not always. The blood is the important thing, not the feelings of the wizards or witches for each other. An adoring mother cannot save the life of her adopted child with a Blood Oath. A brother who has sworn vengeance against his sister _can_ save her life with a Blood Oath.

"Blood Oaths are different from other Loyalty Oaths because they do not involve an actual spell. There is no incantation and no need for a wand, a potion, an amulet, or anything of the sort. The only requirement is a close biological relationship. In its most dramatic form, the Ultimate Oath, a Blood Oath is simply the willingness to die for another human being. This only occurs when the witch or wizard is present while the Oath's object is in immediate danger. A variation on the Ultimate Oath does occur without blood relationships because of the sacrifice and emotions involved, and they are difficult to tell apart. That variation falls into the second category of Loyalty Oaths.

"In its middle form, it can be a genuine desire to bring someone who is dying back to life. This version of a Blood Oath is also dramatic, and is sometimes called a Suicide Oath even though it is far less likely to result in the witch or wizard's death than the Ultimate Oath. In a Suicide Oath, the witch or wizard will actually cut himself or herself and allow his or her blood to spill onto the exposed skin of the dying family member. The Suicide Oath is rather Medieval-- all Blood Oaths are very old magic-- and is not known to work consistently, even by the standards of Blood Oaths.

"In its mildest form, a Blood Oath offers strength to family members who are residing in close proximity to one another. It is an almost entirely unconscious process that springs from magical auras connecting, but it also works between witches or wizards and Muggles who are part of the same family. If you have Muggle parents, they cast as much of a Simple Blood Oath on you as wizard parents would be able to do. A Simple Blood Oath is most useful when it comes to casting protective spells, particularly disorientation spells, and wards around a residence."

Lupin stopped speaking at last and watched as his students hastened to write down all he had said. "Can anyone guess the next kind of Loyalty Oath?" he asked when his voice and their hands had had a rest.

Ron, to everyone's slight surprise, raised his hand slowly. "Is the Fidelius Charm a Loyalty Oath?" he asked when Lupin nodded.

"Yes. Very good, Ron. Ten points to Gryffindor. The Fidelius Charm involves what is called a Specific Oath. A Fidelius Charm is charm which is used to conceal a secret inside a living soul. It is most often used when someone needs to go into hiding for one reason or another. If the Secret-Keeper refuses to speak, no one can find the person or persons in hiding, not if they're looking straight at them. The Fidelius Charm, then, is cast for one specific purpose and is a Specific Oath. There are about two dozen Specific Oaths, most of them charms, some of them medical treatments. The vaccine that those of you who grew up in wizarding families had for Nathan's Disease is a Specific Oath. As I said before, the Ultimate Oath Variation is a Specific Oath. Anyone have any idea about the third class of Loyalty Oaths?"

Now Hermione, to no one's surprise, volunteered. "Are they called General Oaths?"

Remus smiled. "You have the right idea. Five to Gryffindor. They're called Timeless Oaths. Timeless Oaths are the ones that can have very interesting social ramifications. They're almost always sworn between husbands and wives, but occasionally between platonic friends. They seldom work between siblings and virtually never between parents and children because there is a strong, deeply-ingrained element of choice involved in this sort of oath. You may choose to be friends with your brothers and sisters, but you did not pick them out of a crowd or decide to become acquainted with them. They are all difficult and they all require both involved parties to be qualified witches or wizards, and fairly powerful ones at that.

"A Timeless Oath is, as the name suggests, timeless. Permanent. If you swear a Timeless Oath with someone, you are bound to him or her forever." Parvati and Lavender began to giggle under their breath. "Timeless Oaths are very romantic that way. That is why they can cause a great deal of trouble. How would you feel if you married someone and promised to spend the rest of your life with him or her, but he or she could not complete a Timeless Oath? Would you feel betrayed? How would you feel if you had two or three best friends, and they could swear the Oaths to each other but not to you?"

The members of the class had now stopped writing to stare at Lupin, but he simply picked up his lecture once more. "Timeless Oaths do not usually have a specific purpose because it is often hard to tell how they will affect the wizards or witches casting them. All Timeless Oaths involve an incantation that must be spoken by each wizard or witch in turn. Generally, the wand is placed over the heart of the wizard or witch not speaking the incantation, but sometimes it is placed on the forehead. When the incantations have both been spoken, the wands are brought together, and if the Oath was successful, they will react. Usually they will just become warm to the touch, but sometimes they will shoot sparks or glow.

"I'm going to name the six Timeless Oaths for you now, but you don't need to write them down. I'm giving you a pamphlet that lists them. That is your homework assignment for the day after tomorrow when Professor Ryan returns. You are to choose any two timeless oaths and compare and contrast them for her. I don't care how long the essay is. We just want you to make it as thorough as possible without using outside sources.

"The most common Timeless Oath is Perfidus Numquam. It is only used by married couples, and is a promise to remain faithful to the marriage.

"The platonic counterpart of Perfidus Numquam is Amicitia Aeternitas. It signifies eternal friendship.

"Tutelae Promissum is the promise of protection.

"Magnes is one with a more specific purpose. It allows the wizards or witches to find one another no matter where they are. It is believed that the Dark Lord adapted Magnes to summon his Death Eaters when he wishes to see them.

"Certus is the other specific Timeless Oath. It's actually a dueling spell that can be used when groups are fighting each other.

"The rarest and most difficult is Letum Simul. It is a promise that one will not die without the other. If those who have cast it are apart from each other when one dies, the image of the dead will appear to the living just before he or she collapses. If they are together when one develops a fatal physical problem, their auras will blend and both lives will be lost or both saved.

"I'm sorry I had to lecture you for so long. The material will not be as dry when you return to Professor Ryan, I assure you. You may go."

The class rose to leave, calling to Lupin that his lecture had not been at all dry and that he was in no way comparable to Professor Binns.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione were especially reluctant to leave the class. They had no desire to return to the Common Room with its windows overlooking the rain into which they were forbidden by word and spell to venture.

"Want to go to an empty classroom instead?" suggested Ron desperately.

"We aren't supposed to--" Hermione began, but Ron cut her off.

"We aren't supposed to leave the castle. We won't. You aren't on patrol duty until this evening, and Harry's not on at all today. There's no reason we shouldn't have a change."

Hermione sighed and acquiesced. It was hard to deny Ron something when he had just been released from the hospital wing after a Death Eater attack and when his brother had just been sent into hiding.

Their deserted classroom of choice was not on the same side of the castle as Gryffindor Tower and offered a slightly different view. Not having brought along a chess set or cards, they began work on their Defense Against the Dark Arts assignment much sooner than could have been expected under ordinary circumstances.

Ron finished his essay first, and sat staring at his completed parchment until Harry, and finally the overly-thorough Hermione, were done with the assignment as well.

"Ron?"

"Hermione?"

"What's so interesting?"

Ron gestured at the information Lupin had handed them during class. Hermione raised her eyebrows and she attempted to keep her mouth from dropping open in shock. "It had to happen sooner or later," said Ron.

"What's so interesting about it?" queried Hermione warily.

"Do you think we could do these? The three of us?"

"Not Perfidus Numquam," put in Harry with a smirk just before Hermione began to speak frantically.

"Ron, how can you even think about that? Didn't you hear what Professor Lupin said in class today? He even said it specifically-- How would you feel if you had two or three best friends, and they could swear the Oaths to each other but not to you? It's too dangerous! I know that you two are-- boys--"

"Thank you," interrupted Harry and Ron in chorus.

"and boys never want to think about these things, but we need to be friends. All of us. So many times, if it hadn't been all of us, all of us against everyone else-- we would have been dead!"

Harry raised his hands in an attempt to stop Hermione's speech before she worked herself into tears. He hated it when Hermione burst into tears for no good reason (he suspected that he would hate it if she cried for a good reason as well, but thus far when he had seen her in situations which would have justified crying she had not). "We know, Hermione," he said. "We were there."

She drew a deep breath. "I know. I'm sorry. But those spells can still be really dangerous. How well did you do your assignment? Did you do it like me or did you do it like Ron?" Ron and Hermione exchanged playfully dirty looks.

"They're only dangerous if you actually cast them and then actually use them. Trying can't hurt."

"It can hurt your feelings."

"If we try it and it doesn't work, we can blame it on us not being powerful enough yet, or on not saying the incantation right, or on not being old enough. You can't cast Amicitia Aeternitas until you're in your late twenties at least. Not usually even then." Hermione looked impressed. "Hey, I do my homework!"

Hermione mumbled something which sounded suspiciously like "Divination."

Harry and Ron looked at each other and grinned. "Thanks Hermione," said Ron. Then he rolled his eyes backwards into his head and, in his best imitation of Professor Trelawny, added "I see myself dying in a duel because the friend I cast Certus with broke his word and destroyed us both." He sighed melodramatically.

"It's not something to joke about," grumbled Hermione as she tried to hide her smile.

"Let's just try Magnes," suggested Harry while Hermione was still in a good mood. "The incantation is easy, and it's also easy to justify it if it doesn't work. It's not that insulting if you don't want someone to find you anytime, anywhere."

"No, let's go all the way. Let's try Letum Simul! Wouldn't it be impressive if we could do it?"

"Wouldn't it be DANGEROUS?" argued Hermione, angered once more.

"It would," Harry admitted. "I would never cast Letum Simul with anyone. Especially not you." Ron flushed and looked insulted, and Harry hastened on before Ron had the opportunity to leave the room and stop speaking to Harry. "Ron, Voldemort--" Ron winced at the name "is trying to kill me. He almost succeeds on a regular basis. I'm not taking you with me, Ron. I'm not taking Hermione or anyone else, either. I thought about just not being friends with you so you wouldn't be targets, but neither one of you liked that idea. You have to meet me partway on this."

Ron forcefully adjusted his facial expression and drew a breath. "All right. Magnes, then."

"Ron!" exclaimed Hermione. "You can't just--" she broke off, disgusted. "Fine, I guess you can."

"You don't want to try it?" asked Harry, eager to do anything that would change the topic of conversation from his probable impending death.

"No," she said firmly.

"Right, then. Reditu tuo delector?"

"The wand has to be on my forehead for this one," added Ron. "And you emphasize every other syllable."

"If you put half as much time into your actual work--" Hermione began, but she stopped herself when it became evident that both Harry and Ron were concentrating very hard on the spell.

"Reditu tuo delector," said Harry solemnly, the tip of his wand resting on Ron's forehead.

"Reditu tuo delector," Ron repeated when they had switched positions. Then, with such earnestness as might ordinarily have been comical, they raised their eyes to one another and brought their wands together, and when willow touched holly, both boys' faces lit up with astonishment.

"It didn't-- you didn't-- not on your first try," stammered Hermione.

"It did. We did. On our first try," answered Ron with wonder. "This isn't so hard," he added with a cocky grin.

"Professor Lupin said the wizards have to be qualified."

"You're also supposed to be qualified to become an Animagus," Harry pointed out, thinking of what his father had done during his fifth year at Hogwarts. "Want to try now, Hermione? It can't hurt anything."

"I don't think you even understand what you just did," she declared uneasily. "You'll be able to find each other for the rest of your lives."

"You're right," said Ron. "Tonight, before I go to sleep, I'll cast the spell, and I'll be able to figure out that Harry is" he twirled his wand dramatically "in the bed right next to mine!"

"And maybe tomorrow, when we're in Transfiguration--" Harry began before he and Ron both dissolved into laughter.

"Maybe we should agree only to use it in emergencies," said Ron after a few moments of laughing.

Harry agreed readily. "Still don't want to try, Hermione?"

"Scared?" tutted Ron. "Not very Gryffindor-like. Not very prefectorial, either. What will all the little first years think when they find out that the big strong prefect who's supposed to be protecting them is afraid of Magnes?"

"They don't know what Magnes is," said Hermione grouchily. "I didn't before today."

"Is that why you're in a bad mood?" wondered Ron.

"No. It was very interesting."

"Then why--"

"I'm NOT in a bad mood. Here, if it'll make you happy-- Harry, look at me."

Harry had no intention of not doing as Hermione asked. She pulled her wand and placed it against his scar. "Reditu tuo delector," she said with what sounded to Harry like better pronunciation than either he or Ron had used.

"Reditu tuo delector," Harry reciprocated, and he and Hermione brought their wands together. To Harry's surprise, he felt none of the warmth he had felt just moments earlier when his wand had touched Ron's. He shook his head. "It felt the same up until now."

"Did you say it wrong?" asked Ron.

"One of us must have," agreed Harry. "You two try it." Ron and Hermione tried and failed.

"Like I said, it was a bad idea," said Hermione, looking at her wand, her books, and everything but Ron and Harry.

"It's all right, we can try aga--" Harry began, but Hermione cut him off.

"Don't make any more excuses. It's-- oh-- look!"

Harry and Ron looked. Sliding casually into the classroom was a long, brown-colored snake. It raised its head from the ground and looked directly at Harry.

"Do you know me?" asked Harry, not needing to look at Ron and Hermione to figure out that he was no longer speaking English.

_Yes, I know you._

"What do you know about me?"

_You can speak to me._

"Were you sent here to find me?"

_No._

"Were you sent here?"

_Yes. By the Other._

"What did he tell you to do?"

_Nothing._

"HARRY! CAN YOU EVEN HEAR US?" Harry's body jerked as he became aware that Ron had grabbed him by the shoulders and was shaking him.

"Ron, don't be daft, of course I can hear you."

"ENGLISH! SAY SOMETHING IN ENGLISH!"

Although slightly annoyed, Harry gathered his concentration. "Can you understand me now?"

"Yes." Ron sounded relieved, and he held onto Harry's shoulders for a beat longer than was strictly necessary.

"You've seen me talk to snakes before."

"Yeah, but . . . ." Ron seemed to be searching for an appropriate word.

"It was almost like you went into a trance this time," Hermione said for him.

"A trance?"

"A trance. Like you didn't know we were even here. What did you say?"

"I was just asking what it was doing here."

"What's a snake like you doing in a classroom like this?"

"Something like that."

"Did it tell you anything?"

"That Volde-- You-Know-Who sent it, but not for a special reason."

Hermione resolutely began to gather her belongings. "We have to tell Dumbledore. And we have to get rid of the snake." She cast a stunning spell that would last until someone came in to collect the frozen animal.

Then she, Ron, and Harry sought out the too well-known path to Dumbledore's office.


	2. Parvati Returns

Part 2

Hermione tried to stifle a yawn as she walked as quickly as her tired legs would allow to Gryffindor Tower. The prefects were expected to volunteer for a patrol shift several times a week, more to reassure the younger students than because the castle was in any danger that might be prevented by a fifth-year student. Hermione was naturally willing to take on this responsibility, but today she just wanted to seek out the room she shared with Parvati and Lavender and go to sleep.

As tired as she was, she could not ignore the snickering of a group of third-year girls that passed her by near the Great Hall.

"What are you doing out of your common room?" she asked with as much authority as she could muster.

"We've just come from eating. We stayed late. We weren't aware that that was against school policy," one answered for the others. The others busied themselves with glaring at Hermione. They were, of course, members of Slytherin House.

"Of course it's not against school policy. But you should hurry back to your common room. It _is_ against school policy to wander around at night."

"And what will you do if we don't hurry fast enough?"

"I will write you up, as is my duty as a prefect." She drew herself up. "I would be careful if I were you. I don't think that Slytherin can afford to lose any more points." The third-years scowled. Slytherin had been forced into last place early in the first term when a trip to tour the Ministry of Magic offices had become a magical battle. Death Eaters had attacked the town, and many students had been given special commendations for their actions. Hundreds of points were awarded to Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, and Ravenclaw; but as no Slytherin students had been put in danger, no Slytherin students had had the opportunity to earn points. As the year had droned on, Slytherin had managed to pass Hufflepuff and draw even with Ravenclaw. Gryffindor, though, still had a definite lead.

"We'll hurry," said another of the girls in a calculating manner which disturbed Hermione slightly. "You're right. This is a dangerous time. Would you walk us back to our common room? You _are_ a prefect. Surely no one would attack _you_."

Hermione had no choice but to agree, and she set off with the group of Slytherins. She was more tired than annoyed or frightened; surely they could do her no physical damage, and it might be interesting to see the entrance to the Slytherin common room. Harry and Ron had been inside, but she had not.

"So," the girl who had invited Hermione began conversationally. "Which one is it?"

"Which one is what?" asked Hermione, still casting her eyes about in case some danger actually did lurk around a dark corner.

"Harry Potter or Ron Weasley. It has to be one or the other."

"What about one or the other?"

"No girl has two male best friends and doesn't eventually . . . ." she trailed off.

"Doesn't eventually what?"

"We heard," the girl said in silky tones reminiscent of Professor Snape, "That this afternoon you were off in an abandoned classroom with them. Who were you trying to get alone?"

The girl who had first spoken cottoned on, but was much less subtle than her friend. "Which one's shagging you?"

Hermione considered attempting to secure a detention for the girl for the use of foul language in the halls, but she was fully aware that, prefect though she was, her word would not be taken over the words of six other students. More significantly, Professor Snape was their Head of House, and he would never agree to punish them for making obnoxious comments about Ron, Harry, and Hermione. Professor Snape enjoyed insulting them himself.

"Both." said Hermione in a voice that did not sound like her own. "Both, at once."

The jaw of the girl to whom Hermione addressed herself dropped. The other girls looked at each other with wide eyes, and then turned to stare at Hermione as if checking for signs that she was lying. Hermione kept her face blank. No one ever expected her to lie; she understood this fact very deeply, and was desperate not to give herself up.

"Come on," she said to her pack of charges. "It's time for you to get back to your common room." They said nothing until they, in a rush all of a sudden, told Hermione that their common room was close by and they had no further need of her services. Hermione bade them good night, and managed to retrace her steps to the place at which they had met before collapsing in a heap of hysterical, undignified giggles.

Her gloating subsided all too quickly, however, and were replaced by a less pleasant emotion: panic. Harry and Ron would likely be furious when the story began to make its way through Hogwarts' overactive rumor mill. How could she have managed to forget about them when she had tried to shock the Slytherins? Her earlier exhaustion was forgotten as she hastened toward Gryffindor Tower.

"Buckbeak," she panted breathlessly to the Fat Lady.

"No need to hurry," the Fat Lady said as she granted Hermione entrance.

"No. Thank you," Hermione called over her shoulder as she headed for her room. She needed to come up with some sort of plan.

Unfortunately, Ron spotted her as soon as she entered the room and beckoned her urgently. Steeling herself to remain calm, she crossed the room and stood before his chair.

"Yes?"

Ron glanced around to assure himself that no one was paying any attention to them. "Harry and I were playing chess when someone came in and said Lupin wanted to see him."

"Is something wrong?" asked Hermione, suddenly concerned with something more worrisome than the rumor mill.

"I don't know. It's been over an hour, though."

Hermione nodded crisply. "If we're going to wait for him, I'm at least going to get some work done. I'll be back in a minute."

She made her way up the girls' staircase to the door marked "fifth years." From her side of the door, she could see that the candles within the room were lit and that she had no need to worry about awakening Parvati and Lavender. It was odd that she could hear no giggling.

"Hi, Hermione," said Parvati as soon as the door swung open.

"Hi. Where's Lavender?"

Parvati looked annoyed. "Someone was playing with one of those firecrackers that squirts sticking potion everywhere. She's having trouble getting it out of her hair, I imagine."

"Oh. Was there a prefect there?"

"Mm-hm. He took points."

"Right." Hermione set about looking for her half-completed Herbology essay. She was slightly nervous in Parvati's presence. Parvati had been abducted by Death Eaters at the start of the first term of the year, and had only returned to school after the winter holiday. She and Hermione had barely spoken since they had become roommates once more-- not that they had ever spoken overly much.

"What are you looking for?" wondered Parvati as Hermione tore her section of the room apart.

"My Herbology essay."

"Behind your trunk?"

"What? Oh-- yes, that's it. Thanks."

"You're welcome." Parvati went back to the magazine she had been reading.

"What are you reading?"

"Teen Witch Weekly." As long as Hermione was expressing interest, however mild, Parvati decided to be friendly. She held up the poster that came with her special edition of the magazine. "Who do you like the best?"

Hermione walked closer. "Who are they?"

Parvati rolled her eyes. "The Waving Wands. A music group."

"Oh, I've heard of them."

"It would be hard not to."

"I don't have a favorite. I don't know anything about them."

"Hermione, we're not trying to be deep thinkers here."

"Er-- that one." Hermione pointed almost at random.

"Excellent choice. That's Gregory." She cocked her head, looking at the poster more closely. "You know who looks like him-- just a little bit?"

"Who?"

"Harry Potter."

"He-- no, he doesn't! It's just the eyes. That's an unusual color."

"Maybe."

"Definitely. I spend most of my waking hours with Harry. I know what he looks like."

"Maybe because you spend so much time with him, you don't know what he looks like. Puberty's being good to him."

"Parvati--"

"He's growing into himself. He was average-looking, if that, when he was eleven. Now he's getting taller, and getting actual muscle tone, and his eyes stand out more since he ditched the glasses with the thick frames."

"That's true," Hermione was forced to admit.

"And it's not just that. He's friendlier now. He doesn't keep to himself quite as much. He used to be so aloof, but now I think maybe he's just shy. The Boy Who Lived is actually shy! Can you believe it? I guess you can, you didn't grow up in a wizarding family, hearing about the Boy Who Lived every day. Every time someone did something wrong, a parent or a teacher would say 'Do you think Harry Potter would do that?' So naturally most people assumed he was stuck on himself when he came here and barely talked to anyone other than Ron and then you. But now he's nice. And nice-looking."

"Parvati?"

"Yes?"

"Keep your claws out of Harry!"

It was difficult for Hermione to tell whether she or Parvati was more shocked by her words. She had not meant to snap at Parvati, but Parvati was not even close to being good enough for her friend. Unfortunately, Parvati was widely thought to be the most beautiful girl in their year, and if she started to put an effort into attracting Harry, well, Harry had been known to fall for girls based only on their looks in the past.

_Harry can take care of himself, at least when it comes to this_ Hermione thought in retrospect. _You're just upset about the Magnes spell and those little Slytherins. Say you're sorry. Say you're sorry!_

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to say that. I don't know where it came from."

Parvati shrugged. "It's all right. But I always thought Ron was the one you were after."

"After?"

"You have two best friends who are boys. Odds are you'd fall for one of them."

"I haven't."

"But the way you and Ron are always fighting-- do you two really not get along, then? Does he really not like you?"

"He likes me!" Hermione defended more to save Ron's honor than her reputation as having friends. "He'd face down a mountain troll for me!"

Parvati raised an eyebrow. "He'd face down a mountain troll for fun," she replied dryly.

Suddenly, Hermione found herself laughing, not the hysterical laughter of that evening, but real laughter. "You're probably right," she admitted.

"Happens sometimes."

"I honestly didn't mean to say what I said about Harry. Today has just been a very long day, and he was just called out of the common room and we don't know why."

Parvati at last set her magazine aside. "Who called him out of the common room?"

"Professor Lupin."

"Oh." Her face relaxed. "It's not bad, then. If it was bad, it would have been McGonagall."

"I hope so."

"So do I." Hermione studied Parvati with renewed interest, and considered that perhaps Parvati was speaking the truth. "You don't have to look so shocked," Parvati added.

"I didn't mean--"

"Yes, you did. You think that all I care about is makeup and clothes and boys. And I do care about makeup and clothes and boys. But when I was at home during first term, I thought a lot about, well, everyone who's had to fight the Death Eaters, but especially Harry. He keeps coming face-to-face with You-Know-Who, and he keeps coming out alive. I don't mean that in a romantic way. I've been attacked by Death Eaters, and it isn't romantic. Not at all. It shows depth of character to come out of it and keep going, maybe. Mostly I just think that Harry's a nice person who goes to class with the rest of us but who happens to be the object of a megalomaniac's obsession. That's not fair. I don't want him to get hurt any more. All right?"

Hermione was stunned. "All right."

"I understand that you're trying to protect your friend. I do that, too. I can't think of a dramatic example, but remember when Lavender's rabbit died and I yelled at you because all you wanted to do was interrogate her and convince everyone that Divination is stupid?"

"Yes."

"You see? Good. Can I go back to being a ditz now?"

"I never thought you were a ditz, exactly. You got into Gryffindor somehow."

"I'm a brave ditz. Sometimes I wear lipstick that Teen Witch Weekly says isn't my color."

For a fraction of a second, Hermione was unsure as to whether Parvati was joking, but quickly decided that she was, and laughed.

"You laugh because you don't ever bother with it and you don't understand." She looked melodramatically at a clock that hung in the room. "Think of how many rumors could have started up in the time since I've checked. I really should get down to the common room."

"I can actually help you out there."

"I thought you were above gossip."

"The gossip is about me, or it will be starting tomorrow. It probably hasn't made it out of Slytherin yet."

Parvati leaned forward eagerly. "What were you doing in Slytherin?"

Hermione mentally shrugged and decided that revealing her most recent adventure to Parvati could cause little trouble. When she had finished her narrative, Parvati nodded at her solemnly. "You were wise to come to me with this problem, Hermione."

"I was?"

"I can help."

"How?"

"You may be above gossip, but I am not. I can do damage control. Are you going to say that you never said anything to the Slytherins?"

"Yes."

"That's the right thing to do. If I say that I'm sure that's how it happened, that will carry some weight. People believe I know. I'll make sure Padma tells Ravenclaw right away, too."

The conversation broke off as Lavender entered the room, her hair dripping wet and an annoyed expression on her face.

"Did the sticking potion come out?" asked Parvati.

"Finally," Lavender sighed. "Oh, Hermione, Harry says that he's back and he'll talk to you tomorrow."

"Thank you." Hermione supposed she wouldn't be finishing her Herbology essay after all. Instead, she went about getting ready for bed, wondering all the while just what Harry would tell her the next morning.

X

For his part, Harry was still digesting that evening's events.

He had dashed off in the direction of Remus' office as soon as the first year had given him the message. Remus had been his parents' friend, and was as much his own friend as a professor and auxiliary godfather could be, but he had never summoned Harry to his office from the common room before. Horrible thoughts chased each other through Harry's mind as he navigated corridors and tried to look as if he had permission to be out of the common room-- which he did. Nonetheless, he did not want to explain that he did.

The door stood partially open, and Harry knocked against it with one hand while pushing it open with the other. "Professor Lupin?" he asked, deciding that he should be formal in case other professors were present, or in case Remus only wanted to talk about something innocuous like Harry's homework or the next Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson.

"Harry? Come in, please."

"Is something wrong?" he asked. He could not see Remus, who was apparently around a corner.

"No. Shut the door and come further inside."

Harry obeyed, and turned the corner. "Wh-- SIRIUS!" Surely enough, Harry's godfather was standing next to Remus and grinning. Sirius checked in at Hogwarts occasionally, and owled Harry as often as he could, but most of his time was spent running errands, the exact nature of which Harry could not always discern, for Professor Dumbledore.

"Hi, Harry."

"Sirius!" Harry repeated before flinging himself into Sirius' arms for a hug. He was, by some standards, a bit too old to greet his godfather this way, but to his mind he was only making up for lost time. He had never been hugged at all until after turning eleven. Sirius embraced him enthusiastically.

"Is everything going all right?"

Harry grinned. "By my standards, things are positively normal."

"And by anyone else's standards?"

"I talked to a snake this evening, Ron's brother was smuggled out of the castle this morning, and we experimented with Loyalty Oaths this afternoon even though Remus told us we shouldn't," said Harry brightly, wondering if any of this would shock Sirius in the least.

However, Sirius, being Sirius, was not even slightly fazed. Harry was not even aware that over an hour had passed before the discussion of his day petered out.

"Harry, I hate to tell you this, but you do have to go back to Gryffindor Tower eventually," Remus said once the conversation had reached a lull. Harry made a face. He suspected that Ron and Hermione were waiting up for him, and he knew that Remus had bent school rules to allow him this much time with Sirius, but he always dreaded the end of visits with his godfather.

"Will you still be here in the morning?" he asked Sirius, although he already knew the answer full well.

Sirius shook his had sadly. "I'm sorry. I wish I could stay longer."

"I know. So do I."

"But I will be back quickly this time. Inside a week unless something goes wrong."

"Promise?" asked Harry, still caught up in the day's theme of oaths.

"Promise." Sirius' eyes flashed with mirth. "I also promise not to go into a trance while talking to a snake, not to pretend to become a Death Eater for information-gathering purposes, not to experiment with spells that are beyond my capability, and not to call you by stupid nicknames." He waved his wand in a meaningless circle above Harry's head.

"Not call me by stupid nicknames?"

"I spent the past few weeks working some details out with a contact of Dumbledore's in Ireland, a woman named Davina. She insisted on referring to her daughter, who's about my age, as Honeysugarsnapchild. The daughter wasn't around, but I imagine she'd be around more if she didn't have to answer to that."

"So you're promising not to call me Honeysugarsnapchild."

"It's more the tone of voice it's said in than the words themselves. But yes, I'm promising not only not to call you Honeysugarsnapchild but not to call you anything with any of those words in it, or any allegedly cute variation on your name, or HJ, or Harry-J, or Little Prongs, or Prongs Junior, or . . . Pronglet." Harry began to laugh. Sirius smiled, too, relieved that Harry was not too greatly upset that this visit was to be so short.

"I might answer to Pronglet," Harry snickered at last.

"I'll keep that it mind."

"Okay."

"Goodnight."

Harry made a face. "Goodnight. Night, Remus."

"Goodnight, Harry." Harry had left for his common room.

X

Sirius and Remus watched him go.

"Are you leaving right now?" Remus asked when Harry was out of sight.

"Trying to get rid of me?"

Remus rolled his eyes in reply.

Sirius gave in and answered the question. "Yes, I'm going back right now." He made no move to leave.

"Right now in the cosmic sense?"

"I don't want to go back by myself."

Remus' light mood had been forced in any case, and now he completely gave way to his concerns. "Do you expect trouble?"

"No. I told Harry the truth. Less than a week, and I don't expect to try to forcibly convince anyone of anything."

"I would hope not."

"That's not the best way to go about things when you want to set up a Ministry warehouse and hideout, no."

"Hopefully, we'll never have to use them."

"Do you think there's a realistic chance of that?"

"There's always a chance," answered Remus, but he did not look as if he entirely believed himself.

Sirius agreed with his friend's non-verbal assessment of the situation. "Back to the subject, I don't think there will be trouble, but it would be useful to have more magical power than mine at my disposal. Besides, it's likely to get very boring while I'm waiting around for the official word. And you know how I get when I get bored." He offered up a winning smile.

"Cynthia isn't coming back until tomorrow. Dumbledore won't mind if I go after you when she gets back."

"When is she coming back?" asked Sirius, sounding for all his life like a whiny three-year-old.

"Tomorrow."

"When, tomorrow?"

"Your guess is as good as mine."

"I doubt it."

"I'll certainly be able to join you tomorrow evening. Probably tomorrow afternoon."

"You'll meet me at the proposed site?"

"If you tell me where it is."

Sirius muttered the name of the location under his breath.

"Really?"

"Really. And that's very classified information."

"So I shouldn't announce it to the Great Hall at breakfast tomorrow morning?"

"Probably not, no."

"Nor should I tell the _Daily Prophet_."

"No."

"Speaking of which."

Sirius raised his eyes warily. "What?"

"Did you see yesterday's edition?"

"No."

"The leader was entitled 'It's probably sick.' Sound familiar?"

"No."

"'I love Harry so much it's probably sick?'"

"They didn't."

"Of course they did. It's loads of fun to delve into the fragile psyche of the man who was mentally and emotionally tortured for most of his adult life."

Sirius sighed. "Are they accusing me of being an unfit parent for Harry again?"

"They never completely stopped. Everyone's just fascinated by him. They have to find something to say."

"Is there a way to stop this?"

"There's a way to slow it down."

"Well?"

Remus gave his friend a smack on the back of his head. "Don't talk to the _Daily Prophet_! Not even if it's just supposed to be about the war."

"Someone has to talk to them. They like me. I'm handsome and young and charismatic and--"

"Modest--"

"And tragically heroic. I'd be worth reading about even if it weren't for my connection to Harry."

"People may read about you, but you're as easy to discredit as anyone else. Easier than some. All they have to do is what they did-- claim that the dementors got to your brain after all."

"You're right."

"I know," said Remus, trying unsuccessfully to lighten the conversation.

"They're right, too."

"How so?"

"It really is sick."

"Your loving Harry?"

"I just love him so much. It's . . . it's overwhelming. All-consuming. Obsessive. Sick. He's the first thing I think about in the morning and the last thing I think about at night. I think about him every day. Sometimes all day, every day."

"Sounds parental to me. Not sick."

"Believe me, it's sick. It's not just protecting him and loving him because James and Lily can't and I promised. It's, he's just the most amazing kid."

"I'd noticed."

"I had the worst thought the other day."

"And you told the _Daily Prophet_?"

"No! But I'm telling you."

"Well?"

"Maybe I'm not telling you."

"Sirius."

"It was so nice being here with him for Christmas. And I started looking forward to next Christmas. And to the next time I'd see him."

"I haven't seen the evil yet."

"I'm getting there. James and Lily only got one Christmas with him."

"And you're getting more."

"It's not that I'm getting more. It's that I want more. I wanted him to be my son so much."

"So, given the choice, you'd want James and Lily to be dead?"

"NO!" Sirius snarled, although he knew perfectly well that Remus was making a point and not suggesting that Sirius was actually glad that James and Lily had suffered and died at the hands of Lord Voldemort.

"You're alive, Sirius. They're dead. You can spend Christmas and whatever else with Harry. They can't. These are facts. These are not choices made by you or anyone else."

"This is like looking at the murder of my best friend and his wife and finding a bright spot. It's revolting."

"It's going on with your life."

"Do you think Harry would take it well if I said to him 'It's too bad that you're an orphan, but this way you get to live with your godfather.'"

"He'd take it better than you would."

"You don't have any evidence for that."

"How about the hug he gave you when he came in here tonight?"

Sirius shrugged.

"He doesn't remember James," Remus continued. "The closest he's ever been to James is hearing his voice when he gets too close to a dementor."

"I know that! I've given him the 'you don't remember James so you have no way of knowing if you aren't living up to him, which by the way you are,' speech before."

"And we've had this discussion before. You want to feel guilty about things there's no reason to feel guilty about without having him feel guilty about them. It doesn't make sense, Padfoot."

"He doesn't deserve--"

"You can't be his godfather without his being your godson."

"I'm not trying to."

"In a way, you are. Harry knows you. He deserves you. He loves you. He sees you as a parent. He doesn't know James. James is dead."

"Would you stop saying that James is dead? I saw his body and everything. I accept that James is dead!"

"I don't think you do."

"Moony."

"Padfoot. Just go visit his grave."

"That's not going to do anything."

"You're flying at least part of the way to Ireland, aren't you?"

"Yes."

"There's no reason you can't stop by and see it. You never have."

"I don't want to."

"Not just to make sure that it's being kept up? That it's worthy of them?"

"I'm sure you'd know if it wasn't. So would the _Daily Prophet_, for that matter."

"The _Daily Prophet_ looks after heroes and martyrs. We look after our friends."

"Why are you so set on me going?"

"I'm not set on it. It's been known to help, so I'm suggesting it."

"Help what?"

"Help people who miss the dead feel better."

"I feel fine."

"Good. I'll see you sometime tomorrow."

"All right."

"Are you sure you don't want to stay here tonight?"

Sirius shook his head. "I'm going now." They could not have stretched their parting any longer even if they had wanted to do so. Sirius left the room and then the castle, collecting his broom as he went. The enchanted motorcycle, regretfully, was too conspicuous for his important if fairly boring work.

Spending time with Remus generally did not leave him feeling worse than he had felt before, but such was not the case today. "Damn you, Moony," he growled under his breath, trying to rid his mind of thoughts of Harry, Lily, and James. The night air was clear and cool, and was beginning to smell like spring. Sirius leaned forward over his broom, urging it on to ever-greater speeds. As a broom sped up, the amount of control the rider had over direction and maneuverability lessened. Thus, Sirius was forced to concentrate exclusively on the mechanics of his flight.

As Sirius thought about correcting for the wind, and navigation, and potential hazards such as birds or trees or Muggle flight devices, and not James… not James.

A tree appeared out of nowhere, and Sirius was forced to jerk up suddenly on the handle of his broom. The broom briefly spun out of control, and Sirius lost most of his speed and some of his altitude. _Stupid, stupid… had to say that, did you, Moony?_

When Sirius had regained his balance, he searched the sky for the star with which he shared his name and adjusted his course. He had been taught at Hogwarts that he should learn to steer by Polaris, the North Star, but he had decided right away that it would be much more fun to take the time of year and the time of day into account and learn to steer by his own star.

Sooner than he would have liked, Sirius found himself circling above a church he had not seen for over fifteen years_. I will strive for justice and peace among all people, and respect the dignity of every human being._ He did not remember everything he had said at Harry's baptism, but certain statements reverberated in his head. Harry had certainly upheld the words that Sirius had spoken on his behalf.

Remus had told him, in an earlier conversation, that James and Lily were buried in the cemetery that stood by this church. Quietly, discretely, he landed behind the edifice and uneasily sought the headstone labeled with the name of his best friend.

A shiver passed through him as he walked between the graves. So many people had traveled this very path, crying, heartbroken, numb, horrified, terrified, anxious, despairing, despondent. Sirius could not tell if he felt all of these or none of them.

The Potters' grave was not difficult to locate. While it did not tower over the other monuments, it was covered with fresh flowers, and the grass that surrounded it was worn down. A tourist attraction dedicated to the heroes and martyrs. He was, as Remus had said, more concerned with the people.

Below the familiar names and the birth and death dates too few years apart were the words "beloved parents and friends." No heart-wrenching quote or witty phrase. Just a simple epitaph, as if the grave wished to blend in with its surroundings.

James and Lily had never blended in. They had stood out as exceptional. They had been the cleverest, the smartest, the most compassionate, the best leaders, the best students, the best friends, the best parents. They had been brave. They had been beautiful, especially in one another's presence.

Sirius shivered again. Cold as Azkaban. He had been here, many times, while imprisoned in Azkaban, although he had never seen the grave quite like this, aged and cared-for. He had seen accusing eyes and open caskets lowered into the earth.

He knelt before the headstone. _I'm on top of the actual graves, aren't I? What are they now? Dust? Skeletons?_

"I'm sorry," he whispered. The headstone seemed unmoved.

"I wish it had been me. I wish I could trade places with you. I'd die now if it would give you one minute more with Harry."

_Speaking out loud really makes me look mad, doesn't it? So I won't speak out loud anymore. It's not as if you can hear me, no matter what I'm doing. I might as well do the thing that doesn't give the Daily Prophet another leader. It's not that I care for my own sake. It's not that I think I'm good enough for Harry, but I'm better than the alternative. I know you thought that, too. That's why I was supposed to have custody, wasn't it? But I made things worse. After I convinced you to switch Secret-Keepers and got you killed, I went after Wormtail and got the lock-him-up-and-throw-away-the-key treatment. I deserved it, but not for the reasons they thought._

_I know you can't forgive me. Or perhaps you can. It's easy for the ones who are dead. _

_I can't forgive myself. Every so often Remus almost convinces me that I should. That's why I'm here and not in Ireland._

_This isn't working. I could think awful thoughts about myself anywhere in the world. There's no reason I should do it kneeling in the dirt that they threw on top of you fourteen years and four months ago._

_I miss you._

_I'm leaving._

_Moony isn't as smart as he thinks he is._

_But I shouldn't talk, now, should I?_

"That was pointless," Sirius muttered at he left the cemetery and journeyed the rest of the way to Ireland without incident. When Remus joined him the next afternoon, Sirius could not decide whether to yell at his friend or fall down in front of him and beg him "make me feel better!"

He settled for doing neither.

"Cynthia came back?"

"Yes. I don't have to teach again until… I'm not sure."

"And teaching is such a chore for you."

"Not when I compare it to spending time with--" Remus ended his gratuitous insult in mid-syllable. "Did you sleep last night?"

"For a few hours this morning." They looked at each other. "I went to see the grave."

"Was everything all right?"

"Seemed all right to me."

In truth, it seemed anything but 'all right,' but Sirius had little control over that. He did however, have control over the plans to protect what they hoped would be a Ministry stronghold, and he began to explain the situation to Remus.


	3. Bureaucracy

Part 3

Sirius had never been known for his restraint. Ordinarily, he agreed that he deserved this reputation; but today he felt that he deserved an Order of Merlin for not reaching across the table and strangling the man who sat there. Sirius and the foreign minister with whom rested the authority to grant or deny permission to construct the needed buildings had sat alone in a cramped, sunlit room for most of the morning and their conversation had begun to run in circles.

"The results of the last reign of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named were disastrous in this region," the minister stated.

_And everywhere else in the world, You-Whose-Stupidity-Knows-No-Bounds,_ Sirius thought but did not say.

"We do not mean to indicate that you will not be able to place the warehouse and the safe house within the bounds of our jurisdiction."

_Don't you?_

"We simply want to be certain that our citizens will be fully protected."

_As they would be if you didn't trouble yourself to help us fight Voldemort?_

"He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named…"

Sirius tuned out completely. _Voldemort. Voldemort! Why can't people just say it?_

"You understand our concerns."

"Naturally, we understand your concerns." _Particularly because you've been repeating them at length for the past four hours._ "But we believe that the placement of the warehouse and safe house at the proposed location will be beneficial to you."

"You made a good case today. You made a good case to Davina Thomas when you were working with her last week, as well."

"Sir, with all due respect, if I had made my case as I should have, you would allow the construction to begin today."

"The root of the problem does not lie with you." Sirius raised his eyebrows questioningly, willing his opponent to speak before he did. "The root of the problem is with your superior."

"I'm speaking on behalf of Albus Dumbledore!" Sirius objected vehemently.

"I understand that. Albus Dumbledore is not your Minister of Magic."

_You don't know how lucky you are that you aren't dealing with our Minister of Magic. _Sirius could not hide the scowl that crossed his features. "Albus Dumbledore acts with the complete consent and knowledge of Cornelius Fudge."

Eyebrows raised. "The last I heard, there were some rather passionate disagreements between them."

"Those were in regard to the return of Volde-- You-Know-Who. His return is no longer a cause for debate. Don't you agree?"

"I suppose I do. But I also wonder why Cornelius Fudge has not become actively involved in your work."

_Fudge has been keeping a low profile and still he's causing problems. _An evil expression entered Sirius' eyes unbidden, followed by a more calculated conspiratorial expression. He leaned forward, and his companion followed suit. "I had hoped to leave this out of my argument."

"What?" There was glee in the foreign minister's voice.

_Nosy git._ "Cornelius Fudge is not entirely well."

"What?"

"It's something we like to try to conceal. For appearance's sake."

"Of course."

"Our Ministry is in no danger. None at all, between Dumbledore and the other Ministry employees. And when Minister Fudge," Sirius adopted a melodramatic expression "has one of his episodes--"

"Episodes?"

"Harmless, but he can't be entrusted with the safety of our entire population."

"Is he like-- like young Barty Crouch?"

"Not nearly so severe. And there's no evil intent, and no harm in his remaining as a figurehead… you understand that this is all confidential."

"I do." To Sirius' immense amusement, the foreign minister looked much calmer now. "But, with all due respect, I would like some confirmation of this… information."

Sirius tensed. "What sort of confirmation?"

"I attended a meeting several years ago on the advances of plague-controlling potions. I met a wizard there by the name of Severus Snape. He is employed by Albus Dumbledore's school, is he not?"

"Yes," Sirius managed to grit out.

"I would like to speak to him. See if his opinions are the same as yours."

"That can be arranged," Sirius answered tightly, hoping both that he was successfully controlling his fury and that he was speaking the truth.

"I would also like him to be one of the wizards who performs the spells, assuming we agree to your plan. He is a master, after all, and I do demand that masters be used for this task."

"You can use any wizards you'd like to use. I had expected you to choose them yourself."

The foreign minister chuckled and shook his head. "I don't have the people to spare. You'll import your own."

"All right."

"The process should be completed within a day of my meeting with Severus. Shouldn't be too hard for you to round up a few more talents."

"No."

"That friend of yours who showed up yesterday afternoon will probably do."

"I suspect he will." Sirius smiled thinly. "And I'll find three more who will meet with your approval."

"I look forward to meeting them." The other man rose and grasped Sirius' hand. "It's been wonderful working with you."

"Likewise." _Except not really_. Sirius rose as well, and stormed back to the hotel where Remus was awaiting his arrival.

Remus looked annoyingly relaxed and composed as he sat in a chair reading a book. Growling under his breath, Sirius strode to his friend's side, snatched the book, and threw it across the room.

Remus raised an eyebrow. "Bad meeting, Padfoot?" he asked dryly.

"It could be described as bad," Sirius admitted.

"They've changed their minds?"

"He-Whose-Stupidity-Knows-No-Bounds is more frightening than Voldemort any day of the week."

"What happened?"

"He doesn't trust me."

"He's decided this after he and that Davina woman have been meeting with you

for weeks?"

"So it seems."

"Why?"

"He's uncomfortable with the idea of working this out without dealing with the Ministry of Magic itself," Sirius explained. "I thought I'd gotten around it by convincing him that Fudge is mad--"

"Not so far from the truth," Remus injected.

"But then he insisted--" Sirius broke off in disgust.

"Insisted what?"

"That he speak to someone he already knows and trusts."

"Dumbledore?" Remus guessed.

"Snape," Sirius spat.

Remus looked unsure as to whether he should laugh or be very, very afraid.

"So I have to contact him," Sirius growled in disgust.

"Let me do it," Remus offered.

"He doesn't like you any more than he likes me."

"That may be true--"

"May be?"

"But I won't pick a fight as soon as I see him."

"Fight sooner, fight later, what's the difference?"

"We're all on the same side here."

Sirius snarled.

X

"You don't expect me to go!" Severus exclaimed angrily.

Dumbledore smiled a grating smile that seemed to indicate that something amused him. "On the contrary, Severus, that is exactly what I expect you to do. I can't imagine that _you_ expect to do anything else in this situation."

"I expect to remain here and instruct my students."

"Have your students been so ill-educated thus far that they cannot spare you for a day or two?"

"What about Slytherin House?"

Dumbledore raised his eyebrows. "Have they been struggling in their potions lessons lately?"

Not for the first time in his life, Severus bit back the urge to draw his wand and hex the Hogwarts headmaster. He was under no illusion that he could actually do Dumbledore harm, but the actual casting of the curse would have given Severus a deep sense of satisfaction. He hated it when Dumbledore teased him this way.

"No," Severus responded. "Each and every member of Slytherin House is perfect. They don't need a Head of House at all, but I wish you would refrain from allowing Minerva to pretend to discipline them while I'm gone." Not a trace of sarcasm crept into his voice.

Dumbledore laughed. "Any discipline that they happen to need will come from your prefects and from me." Severus nodded curtly and swished from the room without returning Dumbledore's smile. It had been years since he had truly smiled. He smirked, of course, on a daily basis; and sometimes he grinned a vindictive or gloating grin; but he never smiled. There was, after all, very little to smile about.

There was especially little to smile about on a day when he was supposed to go and bail the murderer and the werewolf out of whatever situation they were unable to handle themselves. He decided to visit his old acquaintance in Ireland without first telling Black and Lupin of his arrival. Let them sweat it out wondering if Severus was going to show up and help them out of their trouble.

The conversation with the foreign minister went smoothly. The man was not unlike Minister Fudge; he was unable to form his own opinions and was paralyzed into inaction by the prospect of the Dark Lord's return. Severus' assurances were enough to convince him to follow through with Dumbledore's plans.

Severus sneered as he followed the street to the hotel in which the ex-Gryffindors were waiting. Black had been in this region for weeks and hasn't gotten official permission to set up the protections against the Dark Lord. Severus had been granted permission after one short conversation. His gloating was, however, tempered by anxiety. _Does the Dark Lord know what I did today? Does he expect me to tell him? Will I tell him?_

The werewolf spotted him first. (The man and the would-be man had been sitting together outside the hotel and talking. In all likelihood, they had been having a deep, poignant conversation about the pressures of working oh-so-hard for Dumbledore and the Cause as well as their ongoing sadness with regards to the death of James Potter. Revolting.)

"There you are, Severus," called the unfailingly pleasant werewolf. "Did you have a nice journey?"

"I Apparated. It was the same as any other journey," Severus answered coldly.

"We just though that it might have been eventful because you were told to arrive here over an hour ago," Black put in despite a warning glance from his werewolf half.

"We were concerned," the werewolf suggested unconvincingly.

"No need," Severus smoothly replied. "_I_ am perfectly capable of performing my duties." He removed a square of parchment from the pocket of his light cloak. "The plans are agreed to. Have you actually managed to contact the others who will be performing the spells?"

The Dark creature nodded, failing as always to grasp the irony of a situation in which a dangerous non-human was entrusted with the plans meant to _save_ humanity. "Molly Weasley is one." Severus scowled. He had had a thankfully small amount of interaction with the woman herself over the years, but he had spent all too much time with her miserable children. Ill-mannered, ill-clothed, loud, and thoughtless were the Weasley brats. "A Ministry wizard named Jim Kelly." Severus knew the name-- one of Dumbledore's trusted few-- but not the man. "And Cynthia."

Severus' scowl became a sneer. "You and Cynthia have decided that your students are so helplessly inept that it makes no difference if neither of you deigns to attend classes?"

"She'll be away from Hogwarts for less than a day."

"And I don't believe that _your_ classes--" Black began, but he was cut off by a hard glare from his pet wolf.

_Sometimes it's hard to tell who is whose pet,_ Severus thought. _Which one is more pathetic? It's a difficult decision. But I'm stuck here for at least a day with them, and the Weasley mother, and Cynthia Ryan, so I'll have more than enough time to consider the matter, if I want to, which I do not._

In truth, Cynthia Ryan did not particularly bother Severus. He disliked her for sharing her job with the werewolf, and for treating the pseudo-man kindly. He deeply believed that no instructor of Defense Against the Dark Arts could be entirely competent if he or she was unable to instill in the students a sense of the danger that lurked in seemingly innocuous forms. Most significantly, of course, he resented that Cynthia, who already had work as an Auror, had been given the professorship that he himself craved.

Dumbledore, for all his brilliance, clung fast to the prejudice that all Gryffindors held against Slytherins. _No Slytherin graduate will ever be allowed to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts at Hogwarts. Slytherins are just too dangerous-- unlike, for example, werewolves. The Slytherin students are expected to rebel against their upbringings and their families and all they have ever known without ever seeing one of their own in a position of trust._

Cynthia, at least, had been a Ravenclaw, two years older than Severus, and was therefore not as full of herself as a Gryffindor and not as helplessly stupid as a Hufflepuff. There was not nearly so much wrong with a Ravenclaw as with a Gryffindor or a Hufflepuff.

"Well," said Severus aloud, "Now that I have completed your work and rescued you from an... awkward situation, I see no reason to remain with you." He stalked through the doors to the hotel, cherishing the furious look on Black's face deep inside his heart.

Severus did not feel as much like gloating a week later. Each day the foreign minister came to him with new reasons to delay the casting of the spells, and each day he was forced to repeat this information to the other five wizards and witches. Molly, Cynthia, and Jim, all of whom had arrived the morning after Severus' first discussion with the minister, took the news with resigned annoyance. Black offered sarcastic, biting comments. Lupin grew a shade paler and more anxious, and anyone who had read the _Daily Prophet_ toward the end of the Potter brat's third year at Hogwarts knew why.

Dumbledore had been in communication with the group and had naturally owled Severus so as to thank him for brewing the Wolfsbane potion. He had not _asked_; he had simply _expected_ Severus to use his rare gifts and large amounts of his time and energy to make the life of an animal-- a bully that had once tried to kill him-- less painful.

As it happened, Severus reflected bitterly, Dumbledore was correct in his assumption. Severus had no intention of being maimed because the animal had no conscience or self-control. It fell to him to protect the town from a full-fledged monster, and he would never be praised for this feat, this magnanimous gesture, because he was Severus Snape and not a ridiculous prepackaged hero such as the Potters had been.

Cynthia and Jim both briefly appeared in his room while he was working and gazed in wonder at the simmering liquid. Intellectually, they knew that Severus was creating a potion that only a handful of wizards and witches in the world were able to produce, but they did not appreciate the subtleties that lay beneath the surface of the brew. The only one who could be properly impressed by the brewing of Wolfsbane was one who could brew it himself. Severus attempted to praise himself inwardly, but had no luck. He only felt like a fool for doing anything to aid the disgusting wolf and, by extension, his friend the would-be murderer.

Two more days crawled by. Severus was bored and furious at the thought of the work that was piling up at Hogwarts. On the afternoon before the full moon, he grimaced and brought a goblet to the wolf's room. He would watch as the wolf downed the mixture and then retreat to his own room, which he would protect with every spell he knew.

Pausing outside the door, he heard the voices of his two least favorite members of Dumbledore's team.

"I wish there was some way to get out of here," Lupin said. His voice was as nervous and full of emotion as Severus had ever heard it. Still, to an ordinary person, Lupin's voice would have seemed perfectly calm.

"It's not important," Black answered. His voice was low, and soothing, and did not sound like it belonged to a killer. Sounds could be deceiving. "It _is_ important that none of us leave. It would look suspicious."

"And it won't seem suspicious when everyone in this county learns that one of Dumbledore's wizards isn't a wizard at all? He's a werewolf?"

"No one will know."

"Why won't they? Why don't they? Why can't they remember from the stories in the newspapers when I got loose on Hogwarts grounds?"

"They remember the story and not your name and face. And do you know why?"

"Why?"

"_It's not important,"_ Black repeated earnestly. "You have the potion and you have me. What more could you possibly need?"

"Not to be in a town full of innocent people."

Black, Severus imagined, was raising an eyebrow and pausing for effect. "I doubt that many of them are all that innocent." A predictable joke. "I won't let anything happen. Not to you or to anyone else."

_How sweet._ Severus bit back the bile that rose in his throat. _Black and Lupin should come with a warning label. "Touching friendship. May cause insulin shock. Diabetics should not expose themselves."_

Severus rapped his knuckles on the door but did not wait to be invited inside. "Your potion, Lupin," he said emotionlessly.

"Thank you, Severus."

"Drink it now."

"I will drink it."

"Now. You understand why I am anxious to see for myself that you do so. There is something of a precedent involving your lack of responsibility regarding such things."

Lupin gave in and swallowed the goblet's contents, probably to head off a confrontation between Severus and Black and not because he wanted to indulge Severus' feelings. Satisfied, Severus turned on his heel and returned to his own room. As he had promised himself, he protected it against potential werewolf attack. He had a supply of Wolfsbane and silver close at hand as well.

The chore of making the potion had been removed and Severus passed his evening by reading. Shortly after darkness fell, though, he heard a far-off shout, and then what was unmistakably a howl.

_The potion… I didn't really think…_ The commotion grew nearer.

Suddenly, a horrible thought crossed his mind.

Could the foreign minister have had an ulterior motive in keeping Dumbledore's team in the town until the full moon?


	4. The Second Oath

Part 4 

Molly Weasley stirred in her bed and blinked sleepily. She could not say what had roused her. Perhaps it had been the quiet; she was, after all, used to the noise of the ghoul, the gnomes, and the explosions that resulted from experiments both magical and Muggle. She had never gotten into the habit of using silencing spells because she wanted to be able to hear her children. At least one of the seven was always awake and up to something.

An ear-piercing howl split the air, and Molly became uncomfortably aware that it had not been silence that had caused her to awaken after all. She had known, of course, that it was the night of the full moon and that Remus Lupin, who was living a few rooms away, was a werewolf. Molly had grown up in an old wizarding family and had long harbored many of the typical prejudices against werewolves, but Lupin was so well-loved by the five of her children he had taught at Hogwarts that she had been forced to re-evaluate her views on the role of werewolves in society. Additionally, the man had managed to hide his affliction for thirty years. If he was so dangerous as common folklore would have had her believe, he surely would have been prosecuted, executed, or jailed during such a long expanse of time.

She had never suspected that he would be so irresponsible as to run amok in a well-populated area! She reached for her wand and shrugged into a robe as she scrambled toward a window and assessed the situation.

Molly gasped in horror at the sight below her. As she should have suspected from the start, Remus Lupin was not the cause of the problem. The Dark Mark burned in the sky and served as a gruesome, unwelcome reminder of the last war. At least a dozen hooded, masked figures were rapidly casting spells, all of which were on the Ministry's list of illegal curses. Near the busily working wizards was a veritable pack of werewolves-- all of which bore the familiar symbol of the Dark Lord on cloths wrapped tightly around their necks.

Dumbledore's team of six, it seemed, had been lured into an ambush.

Just as Molly's mind reached this unpleasant conclusion, one hooded figure turned what she assumed must be its face directly toward her. She ducked below her window even as she shouted a counter-curse, and the combined effect of these two actions was her escaping unscathed. She knew, though, that the other inhabitants of the town would not likely be so lucky, and she hastened from the building.

The other members of Dumbledore's team, minus Remus Lupin, arrived near a doorway just when Molly did. Most planned operations did not come together in such perfect sync.

"Plans?" asked Jim Kelly. Molly had met him several times at Ministry parties but had not become well-acquainted with him until ridiculous bureaucratic requirements had stranded them here together. She was surprised that he was the one who spoke first; he had never struck her as being much of a leader. Cynthia, the Auror, probably had more experience in these situations. But then, Molly had a great deal of experience with Death Eaters herself; and while the others had been little more than children during the last war against He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, they had been on the front lines as well.

"Go out there. Arrest all the Death Eaters. Come back here. Have breakfast," said Sirius quickly.

Cynthia's head snapped up. "Sirius? Have you ever run a Death Eater takedown?"

Sirius smiled enigmatically. "Yes," he said. "But I'm happy to let you run this one, All-Mighty Auror."

Cynthia did not bother to acknowledge the semi-flirtatious comment. She quickly spit out a string of directions, but noise and confusion overwhelmed the senses of the small group as soon as they tore outside. Any plans were lost as they fell to free-form dueling.

Molly almost instantly found herself facing two obviously talented wizards (although perhaps the smaller one was a witch?). Two against one was less than fair, and she had been out of the business of dueling for many years. She certainly had not dueled since Percy's birth, and she had rarely been called away from Bill and Charlie in the nine years preceding _that_.

Nonetheless, it did not take her long to note that the two were not moving as if they were used to working together. Removing Fred and George's stash of practical jokes was more complicated than this would be.

Molly continued to block the assorted hexes sent in her direction, but stopped retaliating. She forced a few shudders to rush through her body and purposely stumbled over a non-existent root. The smaller Death Eater stepped closer to Molly. Too close.

Without giving the Death Eater a chance to react, Molly shouted a spell to cause (ultimately harmless) cramps followed by the leg-locker curse, which was a favorite of her son Ron. She raised her wand once more as if to finish the job, and when the second Death Eater stepped in to cover his comrade's half-fallen form, Molly was able to disarm both of her opponents. She quickly followed the disarming spell with Petrificus Totalus.

Her victory, though, was short-lived. She had somehow managed to forget about the howling that had lured her outside in the first place.

Fangs gleamed in the dim light as the mangy monster, much bigger than a true wolf and also much more menacing.

"Accio silver!" she shouted, but in truth she was not able to perform the spell. She could not focus her thoughts on a certain piece of silver. She only hoped that the wolf would back down, would buy her bluff as the human wizards had.

The animal did not believe her. It lunged at her once, and she was just able to step away from its fangs. She felt herself fall, and as the hot breath tickled her cheek, she saw Jim struggling with a powerful-looking Death Eater.

In what she assumed would be her last action before beginning a life of exile, she cast a stunning spell. The Death Eater collapsed in front of Jim. The fangs approached Molly's outstretched leg.

Then, suddenly, the wolf was flipped onto its back and an outraged howling shriek escaped its hungry jaws. As Molly jumped back to her feet, she managed to perceive the dark shape that was Sirius' animal form. A werewolf, dangerous as it was to a human, could not harm a dog.

Sirius lunged toward the wolf. He presented no more sympathy or mercy than a charter member of the Anti-Werewolf Alliance would have shown. Fur flew through the air, and blood spurted onto the ground.

The fangs of the dog met the neck of the wolf. Jaws clamped down harder until, with a great wrench, the wolf freed itself and ran from the battleground, screaming and howling.

The other wolves were reacting to the cry of their comrade and were circling around Sirius. His hackles were raised and his teeth still bared as two wolves leapt for his back and a third for his throat. Molly, nearly transfixed, was wondering what she could possibly do to rescue Sirius as he had rescued her when another battle cry split the night.

Another animal, one that could only be called beautiful despite its obvious ability to do bodily harm to the most powerful of wizards, had joined the fray. Snarling, it jumped on top of the wolf at Sirius' throat. The offending wolf screamed in agony.

A flash of green light illuminated the front of the hotel. Molly only hoped that the light was not the result of an Unforgivable Curse. In its glow, though, she was able to see that the new wolf-- stronger and more striking in appearance than the mangy pack it fought-- was none other than Remus. Something of his face still lingered about the face of the wolf. Animagi retained some of their human characteristics when they were in animal form. There was no reason, Molly now reflected, that the situation should not be the same for werewolves.

The full moon was mostly covered by clouds, but the silver hairs that marked Remus as an Alpha Wolf still made him easy to spot in the midst of the fighting, struggling mass of fur and muscle.

Molly forced her eyes away from the engrossing spectacle and gave chase to a running black-robed form. She shouted curses at his retreating back, and found herself lured away from the band of fighters and into a straightforward duel. She was hit twice by minor hexes but deflected the major ones. When she had emerged victorious once more, her magic felt drained, and she was terrified to see that not all of her comrades had fared as well as she.

Jim's body was stretched on the ground. Snape (after years of hearing her children's derisive comments about the man, Molly could not bring herself to think of him as "Professor" let alone "Severus") had planted his feet on either side of the fallen man's head and was dueling rather successfully despite the restrictions placed on his ability to move. Cynthia was limping. Sirius and Remus, who had at last glance been standing tail-to-tail in the center of the circle of vicious canines, were nowhere to be seen.

For the umpteenth time that night, a noise split the air. This reverberation, though, was a welcome one comprised of the pops of Disapparition.

The Death Eaters were leaving.

"They were counting on the element of surprise," Snape rasped, his voice a mixture of tiredness and gloating. "We weren't as surprised as they hoped." He knelt beside Jim, and his long fingers sought a pulse. "He's alive."

"Do you know what hit him?" Molly asked.

"No. I was a bit too busy trying to keep all of us from being hit by Avada Kedavra," he answered with more heat than Molly felt was strictly necessary.

"You did well," she said softly.

He did not return the compliment, and in any case Cynthia interrupted. "Can we get the Death Eaters who weren't able to Disapparate into my room, please? We'll need to contact the Ministry of Magic."

"Which one?" asked Sirius, who had just re-appeared.

"Both." The Auror was now in charge once more. "This place is full of Muggles. The more people we have doing memory charms, the better."

By the early hours of the morning, the Irish Ministry of Magic had handled the situation itself. Fewer than thirty Memory Charms had needed to be cast, seven Death Eaters were in containment and awaiting charging, and four werewolves were anticipating the setting of the moon in specially designed cells.

Sirius could not help but shudder at the fate of the werewolves. They supported the cause of Dark Magic, certainly, and he had spent the night securing their imprisonment, but the treatment of werewolves had long been disturbing to Sirius. _Not that the justice system treated me all that well, either,_ he smirked to himself.

He leaned against the door that led to Remus' room and glanced at the sky through an oddly shaped window. The moon was setting. Soon he would be able to see Moony. A faint moan confirmed his suspicions that the change was occurring.

Remus, Sirius knew, was not fond of being seen in his wolf form (except of course by Padfoot). He was even less fond of being observed during the change. Sirius had long since learned from inadvertent first-hand experience that the intermediate stages of the werewolf transformation were truly hideous, but all the same he wished that he was inside the room and not outside it. Remus had necessarily hidden himself as soon as the battle had ended. A wolf was unable to help with confinement charms or discussions with Ministry members. The law enforcement officials might even have insisted that Remus, as an inherently dangerous creature, be confined with the other wolves. As a result, Sirius had no idea if his friend had been badly injured in the battle.

The sky brightened further, and Sirius cautiously pushed open the unlocked door which he had been guarding.

"Moony?"

"Come in, Padfoot." Sirius stepped the rest of the way inside and locked the door behind himself.

"How are you?"

Remus shrugged. "All right."

"You were bleeding pretty spectacularly by the time we got out of there."

"As were you."

"As was everyone. Everyone else has been checked out."

"Anything bad? Jim was out cold the last time I saw him."

"He came around."

"Did the Death Eaters get away?"

"We got eleven counting the werewolves." Sirius, who had been inspecting Remus' physical condition as they spoke, drew his wand and began to mend the cuts that stood out on his friend's exposed skin. The healing process went un-commented upon, as if to acknowledge the process would have been to cheapen the depth of the understanding between Remus and Sirius.

Remus was looking healthy, if tired, when a hesitant knock interrupted Sirius' re-telling of the events of the previous night. (Remus remembered the previous night perfectly well, but he didn't remember it as being as exciting, dramatic, and heroism-filled as Sirius made it seem. Sirius was busily swearing his undying loyalty to Remus-- who, as it happened, suspected that he had already had Sirius' undying loyalty-- for jumping in front of a curse aimed at Sirius. No curse, save Avada Kedavra, and no human weapon, save a silver bullet, could have harmed Remus during the full moon, but this fact would have taken some of the drama out of Sirius' story so he chose not to recall it.)

"Come in," called Remus.

"Break through the locking spell! Show us what you've got!" Sirius added. Remus rolled his eyes and removed the spell himself.

"How did you know which one I used?" asked Sirius petulantly.

"That's your favorite."

"I don't have a favorite locking spell! Who has a favorite locking spell?"

"You, obviously." Remus grinned tiredly. "Good morning, Molly."

"Good morning, Remus and Sirius." She favored Remus with a motherly sort of gaze. All hints of the highly trained warrior had vanished with the light of dawn. She seemed about to comment on Remus' appearance and the think better of it. "Dumbledore would like us to go through with the protective spells today."

"After last night?" Sirius asked, outraged. "We could have cast the spells days ago, and the only reason we didn't was because someone wanted to keep us here and try to kill us!"

"Professor Snape's friend claims he knew nothing about these plans."

"Does Snape believe him?"

"No."

"Do you?"

"No."

"You, Moony?"

"No."

"That makes four of us. Does Cynthia--"

"Shut up, Padfoot," Remus interrupted.

Sirius was undeterred. "Why in Merlin's name would we place a safe house in a location known to someone who has just tried to kill us?"

"Dumbledore's orders," said Molly smoothly, as if this reason should be enough for anyone. Perhaps it should have been. She turned her full attention to Remus. "He said you'd be up to doing your part."

"I am," answered Remus, a trifle insulted that anyone would even ask. "Is Jim? Is Severus?"

"Jim is recovering nicely. Professor Snape is fine except for his foul mood." Remus made an effort not to join Sirius in snickering.

"I assure you that I am perfectly capable of performing the spells," Remus repeated.

Molly nodded. "I was just making certain. Ron told me in great detail about your casting a Patronus Charm on the Hogwarts Express two years ago."

"And I'm sure he also warned you that on the day after the full moon I look like one good hex would finish me off nonetheless."

Molly paled. "Did he say that to you?"

"No."

"Honestly, that's the exact phrase he used--"

Remus held up a hand. "He said it to Harry and Harry repeated it to me last summer. So Harry's the one due for a lecture if anyone is. Right, Sirius?"

"Right," Sirius agreed. He had calmed down slightly. "But as a rule I don't reprimand Harry for commenting on you. I like to encourage that."

The last of the tension that had lingered in the room drained away in their laughter, and before nightfall the spells had been cast. Molly Apparated home almost as soon as the last wand had been lowered. Her son Charlie was visiting the Burrow, and she was anxious to see him as well as her husband. Cynthia and Jim left as well. Their respective supervisors at the Ministry were demanding personal reports. Sirius, Remus, and Snape remained for a final night. The spells needed testing in the morning.

Sirius wandered boredly through the town and back toward the hotel. He knew that he ought to be exhausted after spending the previous day casting complicated spells that might cost hundreds of lives were they not done properly and the previous night fighting for his own life. However, he was not even slightly tired.

Just bored.

Remus had fallen asleep almost as soon as the wards had been cast. The other members of Dumbledore's team were gone. Sirius' only option for companionship, then, was Severus Snape.

He preferred the company of dementors.

He at least preferred the company of boggarts.

Sirius made a face at the thought of boggarts. He had had the misfortune to meet one while he and Davina had been holding preliminary discussions about this miserable project. The boggart had lived in a beautiful trunk that sat near her front door, and she had found it amusing. The boggart was a defense against thieves and other uninvited guests, Davina had claimed.

Sirius had been invited, but his accidental exposure to the boggart had still encouraged him to get out of Ireland as fast as he could. It had also encouraged him to refuse to come back to this miserable island without Remus.

"What are you doing, Black?" a hissing voice inquired.

"None of your concern, Snape." Snape was wandering about near the hotel, just as Sirius was, but his movements seemed to be much more purposeful and controlled. He was examining the body of a dead snake. Sirius suddenly found himself wishing he had simply answered Snape's question. He would have liked to have asked the same question of Snape.

Now that it had been brought to his attention, Sirius realized that there were a great many bodies of snakes littering the area that twenty-four hours before had been a battleground. Snape watched the curious expression on Sirius' face with hateful amusement.

"Didn't notice them last night, Black? Not even when you were snuffling around down there, too scared to fight like a man with a wand?"

"Did any of those werewolves I was fighting get away from me and bite you, Snape?"

Snape glared. "No."

"Too bad."

"Better luck next time."

"I certainly hope so." Sirius jumped over the three steps leading into the hotel and was startled when Snape called him back. "What?"

"I spoke to Dumbledore an hour ago."

"I'll send him my condolences."

"He wants the werewolf to know that the other werewolves are being returned to Romania by way of the Ministry satellite office in Hogsmeade."

"Returned to Romania?"

"There aren't very many British werewolves. Irish ones, either. Or didn't you know that? Were you too busy plotting murder to learn about your weapon's origin?"

Sirius gnashed his teeth. "Dumbledore wants Remus to know about the other werewolves."

"Yes. He wants him to be there for the interrogations, if he can manage to wake up for long enough to Apparate."

"Touching of you to be concerned."

"I'm concerned about the future of light magic."

"You'll excuse me if I don't--" Sirius stopped himself in mid-insult. He had promised Dumbledore almost a year ago that he would accept that he and Snape were fighting for the same cause and that he would not display outward hostility. "I know."

Snape sneered. "I'm sure."

"I promised to work with you. I didn't promise to like you."

"If I suspected for a moment that you liked me, I would do my absolute best to find the same fate as these snakes have."

Sirius looked at the mess of scales, bones, and eyes with distaste. "I'd offer to help you with your work, but I know how you enjoy cutting up dead things."

"I wouldn't trust you with this. This requires patience and precision and more care than you have ever taken with anything in your miserable life."

"Are you extracting venom?"

"One point to Gryffindor."

"Is Gryffindor out of the negatives yet?" Sirius asked, feeling humorous in spite of himself.

"No."

"Will you be donating the venom to the Ministry in all its glorious incompetence?"

"Have you nothing better to do than interrogate me?"

"Unfortunately, no, I haven't. But I'll be leaving anyway. Speaking to you has made me long to stare at a wall." _Or even a boggart. I wonder what it would take to accidentally wake Remus up?_

Sirius shook his head as he walked inside. He knew that nothing would wake Remus up "accidentally." He further knew that Remus ought to be allowed to sleep, and that as Remus' friend he should not even be _considering_ waking him up.

But here he was.

He was bored.

He was so bored he had voluntarily had a conversation with _Snape_.

He wasn't bored at all.

Sirius let himself into Remus' room, noting that the locking spell had been the one Remus claimed was Sirius' own favorite.

Remus was lying slack-limbed on his bed. He had probably not moved since falling onto the bed after completing the wards they had come to Ireland to cast. Sirius continued to stare at his friend and mentally began to order himself out of his friend's room. An internal debate ensued.

_Don't you dare wake him up._

_But I want to talk to him._

_You can talk to him later. It's downright cruel to wake him up when he's worked all day after a full moon._

_You're right._

_Yes. Now get out of the room._

_I'm going, I'm going. But._

_NO!_

_I need to talk to him._

Before the more thoughtful, saner internal voice could re-assert itself, Sirius found himself seizing Remus by the shoulders and roughly shaking him awake.

_What did you do that for? I told you not to! You know you weren't supposed to do that, Sirius!_

"Sirius?" Remus asked groggily. "What's wrong?"

Sirius, for one of very few times in his life, found himself unable to form a coherent sentence.

"Are the Death Eaters back?" Remus had his wand in his hand and his patented alert-but-weary look in his eyes. (Sirius had heard, through Lily, that a girl who had fancied Remus when they had still been Hogwarts students had called this look 'exhausted-but-sexy.' Sirius felt more comfortable thinking 'alert-but-weary,' however.)

"No." Sirius found his voice. "No, Moony, go back to sleep. I'm sorry."

"Are you all right?"

"I'm perfectly fine."

"What happened?"

"I accidentally woke you up. I'm so sorry."

"Don't be sorry. I'm not sorry. What happened?"

"Nothing. Nothing at all. Well, Dumbledore wants you to be at the interrogations of the werewolves we caught."

"That's not why you woke me up. Unless it's later than I thought." Remus craned his neck, trying to see the clock sitting behind his bed. Seeing that he had not lost track of time, he turned back to Sirius.

"You spoke to Dumbledore?"

"Snape did."

"You argued with Snape."

"Naturally. I'm starting to think that your way of handling him might be better. Perhaps I shouldn't automatically say the nastiest thing I can think of every time I see him."

Remus' tired eyes widened in amazement and the back of one hand rose to brush Sirius' forehead, as if checking for a fever. "You really _have_ had a bad evening."

Sirius forced a laugh. "Moony."

"Padfoot. Sit down and tell me what's bothering you."

Sirius sighed and obeyed.

"I was wandering around town. I didn't know what to do with myself, and I thought of talking to Snape, and let me tell you, it disturbs me that I wanted to talk to him, almost as much as it disturbs me that I considered being civil to him even though he wasn't civil to me," Sirius rambled. Remus stared at him as if willing him to say something that made sense. Sirius drew a deep breath. "I thought to myself that I liked boggarts better than I like Snape. And I started thinking about the last time I saw a boggart."

"Do you want to tell me about it?" Remus asked carefully.

"James," Sirius muttered so tightly that Remus would not have been able to understand him had he not given the expected answer.

"Doing what?"

"Telling me. Blaming me. Saying-- saying I'd failed him. Betrayed him. Killed him. Murdered him. Murdered his wife. Orphaned his child, and then had the nerve to slink back into Harry's life and buy his affection."

Remus regarded his friend sadly. "You know-- intellectually-- that none of that's true."

"Some of it is."

"Which part?"

"Slinking back into Harry's life."

"You only slinked, or slunk, or…" Remus rolled his eyes and Sirius half-smiled "because you were on the run. There was no other way into Harry's life. You certainly didn't buy his affection. I'd hope you think more of him than that."

"I do. I think the world of him."

"Good. You know that the rest of your boggart is unrealistic as well?"

Sirius' voice grew firmer as he noted that Remus' classroom demeanor seemed to be asserting itself. "You may argue that I didn't kill James and Lily, or even that I didn't betray them, but you can hardly claim that I didn't fail them. I'm truly a failure as a friend."

"I'm seriously considering being insulted by that remark."

Sirius ignored the comment. "It should have been me who died."

"No one should have died."

"James said it should have been me."

"James adored you."

"James was stupid to adore me." Self-loathing crept into Sirius' voice.

"Most people thought James was pretty smart," Remus returned with attempted nonchalance.

"Smart enough to make it rain and not smart enough to come in out of it?"

"What?"

"Muggle phrase. Harry used it the other day. It means being very intelligent without having any common sense."

"Muggles can make it rain?"

"I guess so."

Remus rescued the conversation from its tangent. "He might not have had all the common sense in the world, but he hardly made a mistake by trusting you with his life."

"He did."

"I'm now officially insulted, just so you know."

"Why?"

"I trust you with _my_ life."

"Then you have no common sense, either."

"Thank you."

"Thank you?"

"You're the first person who's ever told me that. I enjoy new experiences."

"The people who are laboring under the mistaken impression that you have common sense didn't see you on top of the astronomy tower in the snow with a winged foal."

"That wasn't a lack of common sense. That was two severely mischievous friends."

Sirius smiled, and then sighed deeply, and for a long moment Remus was afraid he might cry. "It was awful. The boggart. And I couldn't do anything with it. I couldn't just, oh, turn James' hair purple or something. James being dead isn't funny."

"You'll learn to get around boggarts again."

"That's not so much what I'm worried about."

"James is not going to come back from the dead and tell you off. If James could come back from the dead, he'd thank you for taking care of Harry."

"You have no way of knowing that."

"Yes, I do. It's what I'd do in his place." Sirius was silent. "Don't believe me?" Remus prompted.

"You're a decent person in a situation where you can't say anything else."

To Sirius' slight alarm, Remus' eyes flashed with conviction. "Draw your wand."

"My wand?"

"Yes. You know, the one that we broke into the Ministry warehouse to steal last summer?"

"Was that another indication of your common sense?"

"Yes, as it happens, but that isn't the point. We're going to take a page out of your esteemed godson's book. We're going to cast a Loyalty Oath."

"A real one?"

"I'm thinking Amicitia Aeternitas."

"Isn't that one of the most difficult ones?"

"It's two words."

"That's not--"

"Draw your wand," repeated Remus with pretended ennui.

They pressed their wands against one another's hearts. "Amicitia Aeternitas," they said in unison. A rush of heat flooded into both.

"That'll keep you warm in Azkaban," said Sirius, more than slightly stunned.

"Good," said Remus calmly, although he was unnerved himself. "Now go to your room and go to sleep."

Sirius found that he was tired at last. He did as Remus suggested.


	5. The Snake Factor

Part 5 

"That will be all." The fifth-year Gryffindors stood up and began to file out of the Transfiguration classroom. "Potter, I want a word with you," Professor McGonagall added as an afterthought.

"We'll wait," muttered Ron under his breath. Hermione nodded her agreement.

"You don't have to wait," Harry answered. "I don't want you to be late."

Ron was prepared to argue. "As I said, we'll wait!"

"You can't go wandering about without--" Hermione began, but she was cut off by Harry, Ron, and Professor McGonagall.

Professor McGonagall's objection naturally took precedence. "POTTER! NOW!" she snapped.

"I'm sorry," Harry apologized hastily as he returned to the front of the classroom. He felt rather than saw Hermione and Ron exit in the face of their professor's ire.

"That's all right," McGonagall assured him. Her voice remained stern, but no longer held the hint of anger that had set her three students to instantly obeying her commands. "You're to come to my office immediately after your last class."

The blood drained from Harry's face. He had done nothing wrong as of late, and if McGonagall wanted to see him about prefectorial matters, she would have summoned Hermione as well. Obviously, McGonagall had bad news for him. He did his best to look relaxed and indifferent, but he must have failed miserably, because McGonagall gave a short laugh. "There's no reason to look so somber, Harry. It's only a meeting with a reporter from the _Daily Prophet_."

"Why?"

"A human interest piece, I would imagine."

"Why don't I get to decide whether or not I want to talk to them, then?" Harry asked rather more tartly than he had intended.

"You can, of course," replied McGonagall. The hint of anger had returned to her voice. "However, Professor Dumbledore is asking you to do the interview as a special favor to him. He was so sure that you would not refuse him that he has already instructed the reporter to arrive this evening."

Suddenly, Harry felt as miserable as he had in his life. Professor Dumbledore had been very lenient with Harry despite the long lists of rules that Harry had broken. Had Dumbledore been less kind, Harry would have been back with the Dursleys on Privet drive long ago. Additionally, Dumbledore had gone out of his way to see that Harry inherited his father's invisibility cloak and had often taken time out from being the most powerful wizard in the world to talk to Harry.

"I'm sorry," Harry whispered for the second time in as many minutes.

"It's all right, Harry," McGonagall repeated, not unkindly.

"May I ask what they're going to ask me about?" Harry questioned as politely as he could.

McGonagall sighed. "If you're enjoying school. Your friends, your romantic entanglements, Quidditch. Being a prefect. They won't ask you about He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named or your parents. You can mention your opinions on the war if you would like. Dumbledore wants you to, I believe. The entire wizarding community is mildly obsessed with you, Harry."

"No kidding."

"You can take their minds off the Dark Lord, and you can also convince them to fight harder. You've been very sheltered. You've almost never spoken publicly. Dumbledore feels that it's time for you to begin to… use your celebrity for the common good."

Harry nodded. "I understand."

"You can bring Ron and Hermione with you if you and they would like. Or another of your friends."

"I don't think so." Harry's least favorite thing about being famous was the effect it had on his friends. Ron occasionally became upset at being treated as nothing more than "Harry Potter's best friend," and Hermione had been branded a seductress by the very newspaper to which Professor McGonagall was now suggesting that Harry grant an interview. Harry had also spent almost two weeks listening to his classmates make lewd suggestions, some of which he did not entirely understand, about him and his two best friends, and he had no intention of allowing these rumors to be printed by _the Daily Prophet_.

"It might make the situation more comfortable for you."

Harry doubted that, but he did not share his thoughts with Professor McGonagall. Instead, he simply left the room and headed for History of Magic.

Predictably, Ron and Hermione were waiting for him in the corridor just outside the Transfiguration room. "You shouldn't have waited," Harry muttered as they set off for Professor Binns' classroom at a run.

"Yes, we should have," retorted Hermione.

"You're going to have to take points from yourself, Prefect," Harry informed her.

"Professor Binns can take them," said Hermione matter-of-factly. "But he won't. He probably won't even notice us."

"He can't even get our names right," added Ron. "Besides, our Head of House _knows_ we weren't skiving off. She's the one who made you late."

They slowed down as they heard the familiar, sickening drone of the ghost's voice. Harry and Ron stopped moving entirely; Hermione tossed them a long-suffering glance and slipped into the room ahead of them.

Hermione had been correct. Professor Binns did not even acknowledge their arrival. The other students, however, looked up with interest. Harry sat down next to Seamus and cast a quick glance at his parchment to see if he had actually deemed any of Binns' lecture worth writing down. Seamus grinned and shoved his parchment closer to Harry.

Seamus had written the words "This is boring" perhaps sixteen times across the page, but most of the space was taken up by a hideous sketch of a banshee. "Needs work," was written next to the banshee in handwriting Harry recognized as belonging to Dean.

Harry nodded his thanks, and Seamus, after making sure that they were unobserved by their professor, whispered "Is everything all right?"

Glancing around in turn, Harry muttered. "Yeah. She just wants me to talk to the _Daily Prophet_."

Seamus sniggered. "The price of fame."

"I can't tell you how much I'm looking forward to it," Harry scowled in reply.

"Are you sure you don't want Hermione and me to come?" asked Ron, who had sat down on Harry's other side.

"Were you eavesdropping?"

"Naturally." Ron grinned.

"_Be quiet,"_ interrupted Hermione with a hiss.

"It's just History of Magic," Ron protested, flicking Hermione's quill from her fingers as he spoke. Ironically, it was Hermione's grab for the quill that finally prompted the ghost to raise his eyes from his notes.

"I would like you to pay attention to the class, or it will be points from Gryffindor." Hermione blushed furiously, but no one else appeared to feel terribly reprimanded.

Seamus, in particular, looked highly amused. "We're sorry, Professor," he said loudly. "It's just that the _Daily Prophet_ wants to interview Harry and he needs help deciding what to say. Professor McGonagall said he could take his friends along but he wants all the publicity for himself."

"Well, Mr. Potter, I'd prefer that you discuss this problem elsewhere," said Binns in his usual monotone.

"Yes, Sir." Harry managed not to blush as Hermione had. "Thanks, Seamus," he growled under his breath.

"You're welcome," replied Seamus cheerily.

Ron grinned at Seamus over Harry's lowered head.

Harry decided that it would be in his best interests not to make eye contact with Seamus or Ron for the rest of the allotted class time. In desperation, he actually took notes on the lecture even though he knew full well that Binns was reading almost word-for-word from _A History of Magic_.

When the excruciatingly dull lecture ended at last, Harry heaved a sigh of relief before remembering that he now had to speak with a reporter. Hermione had obviously not forgotten. "Are you _sure_ you don't want us to come?" she asked earnestly as she gathered her books.

"Yes."

"_Positive?"_

"Positive. You don't want them to call you a 'scarlet woman' again, do you?"

"Hey!" injected Ron.

"I don't care. I didn't care then and I don't care now," said Hermione firmly. The three were in the corridor now and walking towards their Head of House's office.

"I do," answered Harry simply.

"What about me?" Harry, Ron, and Hermione turned as one.

"Parvati?" asked Harry, surprised to find the dark-haired girl behind him.

"Glad you remember me."

"Why--" Harry cut himself off. He could not think of a polite way to phrase his question. Parvati seemed to understand nonetheless.

"My being there isn't going to start rumors about anything. People might say that we're dating, but that's it, and everyone at Hogwarts will know we aren't. No one else matters. And I can distract the reporter from you a little bit if things go in a direction you don't want them to."

"She means she'll keep you from saying anything stupid," clarified Hermione. Hermione's appreciation for Parvati had increased tenfold in recent weeks as she had realized that Parvati's "ditz-like" qualities were not entirely without uses. Parvati and Hermione smiled at each other. "Take her with you," Hermione added.

"You should," Ron agreed. They had kept walking as they spoke, and now their destination rose up before them. "We'll wait for you."

Harry rolled his eyes and was near telling Ron and Hermione off for insisting on escorting him everywhere when the door opened as if of its own accord.

"Come in, Potter," Professor McGonagall's voice called. Harry nodded to Parvati, and she entered beside him. "Miss Patil," added the professor with some surprise.

"You said I could bring a friend."

"So I did. I was unaware that the two of you were so close."

"We aren't," Harry began, but then thought better of attempting to explain a plan that he himself did not entirely understand.

McGonagall seemed to think better of asking for clarification. "The reporter is inside. So is your godfather, Potter."

"Sirius?" asked Harry, delighted. Sirius had remained in Ireland for many more days than he had planned, and Harry had been concerned for his safety.

"Sirius. He just arrived a few moments ago and insisted on being present."

"He would," said Harry affectionately. He and Parvati stepped further into the office and came face to face with Sirius and a woman whom Harry presumed was the reporter. "Hi, Sirius." Harry refrained from flinging himself into his godfather's arms in the company of Parvati and the reporter.

"Hello, Harry," said Sirius, looking as if he was even less eager to be taking part in this interview than Harry himself was. "This is Daphne Collins of the Daily Prophet."

"Nice to meet you," said Harry, extending his hand to shake that of Daphne.

"And I am honored to meet you." Her gaze was slightly disconcerting. "Is this one of the Patil twins?" she added. The gaze shifted to Parvati, who looked as if she was fighting against the urge to step backwards.

"This is my friend Parvati," Harry put in quickly but uncomfortably. "Parvati, this is my godfather, Sirius."

"Hi," said Parvati uncomfortably. Sirius had met Parvati's twin sister Padma when Padma had been impersonating Parvati under the Imperius Curse, but he had never met Parvati herself.

Daphne Collins instantly began rapidly firing questions at Harry and occasionally at Parvati. As promised, each time a question seemed to be too personal, Parvati managed to inject a comment that steered the discussion elsewhere. Sirius, for his part, glared at the reporter without saying a word until twenty minutes had passed. "I'm sorry," he said then, "but it's been twenty minutes. Harry and Parvati have a busy evening." The reporter rose to leave and was rushed through the door by Sirius.

"That was fun," said Harry sarcastically.

Parvati shrugged. "It wasn't so bad." She squirmed uneasily. "Aren't Ron and Hermione waiting for you?"

"Probably." Parvati and Harry stood up as well. Harry barely had time to consider that for someone like Fred or George Weasley, being left alone in McGonagall's office would present a wealth of opportunities before Parvati gave a squeal of fright. "What?"

"Nothing. A snake."

"Where?"

"It just went outside." Parvati gestured to the door, which Sirius and the reporter had left open. "Where we're going." She made a face as Harry pushed the door the rest of the way open.

_It is you,_ hissed the snake.

"You know me?" Harry asked, forgetting everything else that had happened that day.

_How could I not?_

"Are there many snakes in this castle?"

_Not so many now. Will you help me?_

"Help you how?"

_Don't let them kill me. They want to kill me._

"Who does?"

_The older ones._

"Which older ones?"

_In this castle._ The snake seemed exasperated.

"The professors?"

_Yes_.

"Why--"

_Can you make her stop screaming?_

Harry paused, confused. He could hear no screaming.

"I don't hear any screaming."

_Never mind._ Harry could have sworn the snake was smirking. For a brief moment, it reminded him of Professor Snape.

The next thing Harry noticed was his head connecting with a wall. He looked up confusedly and saw Ron standing over him. "CAN YOU HEAR ME NOW?" Ron bellowed.

"Yes," said Harry. "Why wouldn't I be able to hear you?"

"Why, indeed," scowled Hermione. Harry now saw that she was standing beside Ron. Parvati was still present as well, but she was cowering inside the threshold of Professor McGonagall's office and looking as if she might slam the door at any moment. "Did you have to hit him that hard?" Hermione continued, turning the full force of her glare on Ron.

"It worked, didn't it?" Ron's voice had not yet returned to its usual volume.

"I don't see why you'd bother trying to snap Harry out of it only to crack his head open."

"My head is not cracked open!" Harry protested.

"See?" asked Ron gloatingly.

Hermione rolled her eyes. Harry and Ron understood her unspoken comment perfectly: _Boys_. "Are you all right, Parvati?" she asked aloud.

Parvati nodded shakily. "Yes. I just couldn't get through to him like you did when he went into the trance. I over-reacted when I started screaming."

"No, you didn't," Hermione corrected.

Ron nodded in agreement. "If you hadn't made any noise, we wouldn't have known what this stupid prat was up to."

"Hey!" protested Harry.

Ron shrugged. "It's true. You'd think you'd've stopped talking to every snake you meet by now."

"I have to find out--" Harry began to protest, but he was cut off by Parvati.

"Lavender's waiting for me," she said anxiously. Ron, Harry, and Hermione promised to see her later, secure in the knowledge that Lavender was not waiting and Parvati simply did not want to be a part of this conversation. They could hardly blame her.

Hermione opened her mouth as if to begin scolding Harry, but Harry raised a warning hand. "We've had this argument already."

"And we'll have it again," Hermione agreed.

"But not now."

"It's as good a time as any."

Harry made a face. "It's really not."

"What do you suggest we do instead? Find another snake for you to talk to? Maybe next time you won't be able to stop speaking Parseltongue at all, and you won't have to argue with me ever again!"

"Let's go work on Loyalty Oaths."

"Let's," Ron agreed. Hermione looked from Ron's face to Harry's, and without a word the three set off to search out an abandoned classroom. None of them especially wanted to face the crowded Great Hall or eat their evening meal.

Their work did not pass long uninterrupted, however.

"Didn't your professor tell you not to play with those spells? They aren't to be trifled with." Remus Lupin entered the room.

Hermione looked nervous. "We're sorry--"

"He's kidding," Harry injected.

"No, I'm not," said Remus, but his eyes were twinkling.

"Are you going to send us back to the Great Hall?" asked Ron, offering up a winning smile in the hopes that he would receive an answer in the negative.

"Eventually."

"How eventually?"

"When I find out why Harry didn't stick around to talk to his godfather after his interview."

Harry made an effort not to let his jaw actually drop. "I forgot."

"That's clear," said Remus at the same time as Ron asked

"Sirius is here?"

"Yes," said Harry.

"We're back to looking for secret passages we didn't manage to find when we were students," Remus clarified. He smiled wryly. "It's considerably more fun than working in Ireland. Now," his gaze hardened "What happened between the end of Harry's interview and my interrupting your rule-breaking session?"

"I saw a snake," Harry admitted. He hoped not to explain the extent of his interaction with the animal to Remus, but lying to the man was not something with which he felt comfortable.

Remus nodded. "I know that you reported speaking to a snake to Dumbledore before I left. Is this the second time?"

"It's the fifth," Hermione answered for Harry. Harry glared at Hermione, and Ron did the same. Remus merely looked interested.

"The fifth?" he prompted, focusing the whole of his attention on the girl before him.

"Yes."

"Have these incidents progressed in any way? Become more frequent? Become longer?"

"Every time it happens, it's harder for Ron and me to get Harry to start speaking English again. And I don't think anyone but us can do it at all. Parvati couldn't, today."

"Interesting." Remus still looked only mildly intrigued by the information Hermione was giving him, but Harry and Ron knew that in this case appearances were deceiving. "I trust that you've told Professor Dumbledore about this?"

"No," whispered Hermione.

"I trust that you will tell him before I see him this evening?"

"Yes," Hermione answered.

"Good. Now get out of this part of the castle. It isn't safe."


	6. Desperate Times

Part 6 

The Dark Lord shuddered with weakness and anger. New, more desperate measures were obviously necessary. He needed to infiltrate Hogwarts, and he needed to infiltrate it before another incident like this one sent his plans into further disarray.

He summoned Peter Pettigrew and Severus Snape.

Severus arrived instantly. He bowed low to the ground and brushed his lips to the hem of the Dark Lord's robe. The Hogwarts professor did his best to display no outward sign of nervousness, but in truth he felt as if he might become ill. As bad as it was to be summoned to the He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named's side along with all of the other Death Eaters, it was infinitely worse to be summoned individually.

"My Lord," he whispered.

"Rise," He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named rasped with a mixture of boredom and loathing.

Severus rose just as another pop sounded in the room. He had not been summoned alone, after all.

"You are late, Wormtail," He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named snapped, but somehow the loathing in his voice seemed to lessen. _There is a way to read this situation that makes my immediate future look extremely unpleasant_, Severus reflected.

"M-- my L-- lord, I ap--p-- pologize," Pettigrew stammered. He fell to his knees as Severus had done a moment earlier. Severus wondered how in the world the allegedly intelligent Potters had ever allowed themselves to be convinced to entrust their lives to this quivering mass of idiocy.

"Rise, Wormtail." Pettigrew scrambled awkwardly to his feet. "You shall be useful to me today."

"I won't let it go to my head," answered Pettigrew with the deepest sincerity. Severus choked back his snickers.

"There was an unfortunate occurrence earlier this evening," the Dark Lord explained, his eyes never leaving Pettigrew's half-shaking form. _I never expected to think this, but I wish he'd look at me_, Severus thought. "Six more of our supporters have been taken into custody. Hogwarts must be taken _now_." An unpleasant chill rushed down Severus' spine and he straightened his back against it. Pettigrew, for his part, looked unabashedly terrified. "You will take the form of the rat and enter Hogwarts. A wand will be hidden in the corridor that leads to the Slytherin dormitories. You will destroy Hermione Granger, your _master_ Ron, and your dear friends Moony and Padfoot. You understand?"

"My Lord-- how--?"

"Any or all of the four. Find them alone and kill them. I do not trust you to take Harry Potter or old Dumbledore, but you _must_ know the weaknesses of the other four. Do you not, Wormtail?"

"Yes," Pettigrew managed to choke out. His expression and posture belied his answer.

"You are a fair duelist with your new arm," He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named added with some satisfaction. Pettigrew relaxed infinitesimally and flexed the false appendage appreciatively. "You may be a real match for Sirius Black."

He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named at last returned his gaze to Severus. "You would particularly enjoy seeing Sirius Black get his due, would you not?"

"I would," said Severus, in agreement with the Dark Lord for the first time in many years. He was not, of course, in favor of a Hogwarts infiltration; but Black, the killer, had never been properly punished in his life. _What goes around comes around._

"So more's the pity that you will not be seeing Wormtail's work."

"My Lord?"

"You will remain here, Severus. You will remain here indefinitely."

Blood rushed in Severus' ears. "My Lord, Dumbledore--"

"Dumbledore has other things to consider." The Dark Lord's attention shifted once more. "Wormtail, why are you still here?"

The man became a rat and scampered away as quickly as he could.

However, nearly a week passed before he was able to retrieve the wand and stumble into one of the opportunities his master had mentioned.

After a long evening of sniffing along the corridors of the school-- more in search of food than anything else-- Wormtail caught the unmistakable scent of Dumbledore's office. Looking up beadily, he noted with disgust that he had come full circle of the castle and achieved nothing.

He paused and strained his ears. It was possible that Dumbledore would say something that the Dark Lord would be pleased to know; and Wormtail was desperate to please the Dark Lord now that his hunt had started so badly.

The office was silent, but faint sounds were coming from the large meeting room close beside it. Wormtail edged closer.

"No sign at all?" That was Professor McGonagall.

"None whatsoever." Dumbledore sounded old and weary. Presumably they were discussing Snape.

"We can begin to expect the-- the worst?" McGonagall asked, her voice quavering slightly. _They can't be discussing, Snape, then, _Wormtail thought with a sigh. _McGonagall hates him._

"There is always hope, Minerva," Dumbledore replied. "I have people looking for him, but no information has been uncovered as of yet. In the meantime, our primary concern is seeing that the students' educations are not neglected. Sirius and Remus, you've been conscripted again." There was a pause. "I know that neither of you is especially proficient in this area, but you can teach the younger students and prevent the older ones from destroying the castle."

"A realistic goal," said Sirius with some irony in his voice. Wormtail became all the more confused after hearing Sirius speak; Sirius should be _gloating_ that Snape seemed to have met a bad end.

"We have to make compromises for the safety of the students. It is hardly practical to bring in a true potions master who will teach the students and then destroy them. I can honestly tell you that nowhere among those I trust to come inside Hogwarts is a truly gifted potions maker."

Wormtail assumed that the other three were nodding in agreement.

"Now," Dumbledore continued, "Minerva, if you would accompany me to the Slytherin common room we will attend to the matter of punishment for those destroyed suits of armor and have a conversation with the Slytherin prefects about keeping order. Remus, if you would inform Mr. Filch that the perpetrators have been dealt with and attempt to… placate him?"

Sirius snickered something along the lines of "good luck" under his breath. Wormtail held his own breath as three pairs of shoes passed him by.

Sirius was now alone. Under ordinary circumstances, Wormtail would never have chosen to fight with Sirius Black no matter what the Dark Lord had ordered. To fight with Sirius would be to commit suicide. Today, though, Sirius had his back to Wormtail and had no reason to think that he was not alone. No student could enter this section of the castle. Wormtail could transform and kill Sirius before the man realized that he was not alone.

All went according to plan for the first fraction of a second.

Wormtail became Peter Pettigrew. He seized his wand. He aimed it at Sirius.

And Sirius turned around and jumped away from the table. The curse missed him by inches.

"Wormtail," he growled low in his throat. Never had Peter expected that so much loathing could be forced into one short word-- but if anyone was capable of such a thing, Sirius Black was.

"I didn't expect to see you here," the growl continued. "EXPELIARMUS!"

Peter was just able to shout a counter-spell and dodge into a corner of the room. He prepared himself to transform.

"If you transform, so will I," Sirius declared, taking one long, menacing stride toward Peter. "I recommend that you die like a man."

"You-- you can't kill me," Peter said, disgusted that his voice, as ever, sounded much less confident than that of Sirius. "You promised Harry."

"I didn't promise him that I wouldn't make you wish you were dead. Nor did I promise that I would not kill you _by accident_, in _self-defense_." The grin Sirius now wore spoke nothing of mirth. Peter shuddered.

The two men raised their wands as one. Their next three spells cancelled one another out as the room grew warmer and a faint smell of duel-created smoke tinged the air.

The first spell that had any real effect was Sirius' leg-locker curse. It was childish but effective, not unlike the man himself. From the ground, Peter was able to block Sirius' next curse and even hit Sirius with a breathlessness charm. With wonder, Peter realized that his new arm did indeed make dueling much easier. His reaction time was nearly halved.

The wizards regrouped quickly and stood facing each other once more. The wariness soon left Sirius' face, however. He was nearly mad with glee. "You haven't got a chance, Wormtail," he rasped.

"I think I have," Peter replied.

"That fake arm can't duel for you."

"It doesn't need to," Peter answered with a sudden flame of irritation. As a Hogwarts student, he had often thanked lucky stars and guardian angels that Sirius Black was his friend. Sirius had been so strong, so charismatic, and so talented that his friendship had been a protective shield for the weaker, less popular, and less magically gifted boy.

_Why does Sirius even bother with me? He's everything and I'm not even smart enough to get out of being yelled at for playing in McGonagall's class like he is _had been one of the refrains that had often coursed through Peter's teenaged brain.

"You aren't as smart as you think, Padfoot," Peter said now.

Sirius grimaced at the use of the nickname. "Oh?"

"You chose the wrong side."

"We'll see. Or rather, I will, because you--"

"We HAVE seen. You and Remus and James had _everything_. You were near the top of your classes, you had friends who adored you, everyone told you how _smart_ and _brave_ and" Peter snorted "_handsome_ you were. You put everything you had into" Peter rolled his eyes "the Cause. And where did it get you? It got you into Azkaban and it got Remus into exile and it got James DEAD! Lucius Malfoy is living on a manor somewhere. Macnair is a valued member of the Ministry. They have respect and families and piles of gold."

Peter and Sirius had begun to move around the room in a strange dance. Again, though curses rained thickly through the air, neither was able to connect.

"So?" Sirius asked in between hexes. "The Malfoys have _always_ had money."

"So compare Lucius Malfoy to you, and to Remus! He has everything he can dream of. You and Remus haven't always had enough to eat for all you were 'some of the best Hogwarts ever produced.' You've starved in the streets! Literally! Both of you! _I_ made the smart choice this time, not you, and _you_ can't handle it because you like to be smarter than everyone else! Can you honestly tell me that living in the streets was worth it?"

"YES!" roared Sirius without an instant's hesitation. Two hexes hit Peter in quick succession, but Peter, with a feeling of euphoria, again found that he could continue to send spells in Sirius' direction. _This_ was what dueling must feel like for the truly magically gifted. No wonder Sirius and Remus and James had actually enjoyed dueling lessons instead of dreading them as Peter had.

"Still with me, are you?" asked Sirius with an insulting amount of surprise.

"_You're_ still with _me_, you mean," Peter corrected. "Too much time spent with your brain-damaged godson and your not-quite-human friend, I expect. You forget what it's like--"

"You will NEVER--" Sirius' voice broke off as he shouted another hex, but he had grown angry and his aim had grown erratic, just as it had more than fourteen years before following the deaths of James and Lily.

"Careful, Sirius," sniggered Peter. His was the voice now filled with glee. He had learned not a little about manipulation from the other Death Eaters. "Don't lose that infamous temper of yours." As Sirius' lack of control grew, so did Peter's confidence. He summoned his strength and waited for an opening. "AVADA KEDAVRA!" he shouted.

_"Don't lose that infamous temper." Was that what I was doing? You'd think I'd learn._ Sirius squared his shoulders and stepped back into a more relaxed dueling position. He began to fight as he had been taught. He brought his wand up with the intention of reflecting Wormtail's next spell; this was the logical thing to do when a magically weaker opponent somehow took advantage of a nearly complete opening.

He had not expected the spell in question to be "Avada Kedavra." The magical energy hit his wand with the weight of the castle. Sirius staggered backward. An acidic feeling ripped through his veins, but somehow he felt that he was floating as the curse left his wand and caught Wormtail full in the chest.

Wormtail toppled to the ground.

Sirius' wand slipped from suddenly numb fingers.

He felt a hand guiding him to one of the chairs that had managed not to be overturned by the duel. "You've never cast Dark Magic before. You can expect to feel lightheaded." Dumbledore had returned, with McGonagall in tow. She was kneeling beside Wormtail's prone body. Her quick nod to Dumbledore assured Sirius that his former friend was indeed deceased.

"I didn't cast Dark Magic," Sirius protested weakly.

"You reflected it. The magical effect is the same although the legal effect is not."

Sirius slumped back in his chair. He was at last guilty of the crime for which he had been imprisoned.

He had not enjoyed it as much as he had expected.


	7. Desperate Measures

**Part 7**

Eleven.

Eleven was an odd number.

Eleven was a prime number.

There were eleven students in the fifth and seventh year classes of Slytherin House.

Most students were eleven years old when they arrived at Hogwarts.

It took eleven minutes to walk from the largest dungeon to the astronomy tower.

The most recent Slytherin Head Girl had gotten eleven OWLs.

A famous Muggle armistice had been signed at the eleventh hour on the eleventh day of the eleventh month.

There were eleven ingredients in the simplest Alacrity Potion.

Wolfsbane had to be brewed whole for eleven minutes before a potion involving it was begun.

And Severus Snape had been held captive in one of the Dark Lord's makeshift forest fortresses for eleven days.

Eleven was a miserable number.

Severus started into the blackness. In addition to being an odd number, a prime number, and a miserable number, eleven was a boring number. He had to think of something other than eleven, but his brain felt exhausted from the thinking it had done during the previous ten days. The waiting game was tiring in a very special way.

Thus far, no one had made the slightest attempt to harm Severus. Quite the contrary had been true, in fact. David Avery, one of the youngest Death Eaters implicitly trusted by the Dark Lord, had been charged with delivering fresh food to Severus thrice daily. The room which Severus was forbidden to leave was equipped with a perfectly comfortable bed and a perfectly functional shower. The only thing denied Severus-- other than freedom of movement, intellectual stimulation of any sort, and the ability to contact anyone other than young Avery-- was sunlight. He lived below Hogwarts in the dungeons, though, and he was used to quarters dark and dank. Such was the fate of a Slytherin, and Severus bled silver and green.

He smirked. He would be bleeding literally, soon. The Dark Lord would not leave him here forever. It was not the Dark Lord's way.

Severus shifted anxiously, and then cursed himself for doing so. Odds were good that he was being observed, and he had no desire to look nervous or guilty.

He was, of course, guilty. He had been a double agent for most of his adult life. Had the Dark Lord at last come across irrefutable evidence as to this fact? Had he blown his cover? Had someone blown it for him? What would the punishment be?

Severus had wondered what his punishment would be for a good sixteen years. In a way, this imprisonment was only the latest, most dramatic chapter in a waiting game that was well into its second decade.

The first door along a corridor of doors swung open, and then latched itself shut. The other doors followed suit, and Severus slunk down further in his chair, hoping to look merely bored when Avery arrived. A moment after the last door had shut itself, Severus lazily raised his eyelids.

To his terror, he did not see Avery.

"My Lord, I did not see you," he hastily said. He bowed low to the ground as he slid from his perch to kiss the hem of the Dark Lord's robes.

The Dark Lord's diamond-toed dragon hide boot connected with Severus' head. "That is obvious," He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named snarled.

"Forgive me."

"Why in Grindlewald's name should I forgive you?"

"My Lord, I shall not make the same mistake again."

"You shall not have the chance."

"My Lord?"

Severus had pulled his knees under his body once more, and the Dark Lord, noticing this, kicked his head once more. Severus' balance and vision were slower to return this time. _Those diamonds are going to leave a bruise_ thought the section of his brain that, for some reason, found the whole situation humorous. Slytherins had dark souls, practiced Dark Arts, and possessed dark senses of humor.

"My Lord," Severus repeated. "My Lord, I shall never again be so negligent as not to notice your presence. It is an honor to--"

"Save your breath, Snape. You will need it to scream."

Severus looked up through the haze of red behind his eyes to see that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was sneering. "CRUCIO!" he bellowed.

He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was perhaps the most successful user of the Cruciatus Curse in the history of magic. He worked with pain as Michelangelo had worked with marble. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named knew how to deny a subject the bliss of losing consciousness. He knew how to spread pain throughout the body without making one spot hurt so well that the other injuries were forgotten. He knew exactly when to keep the level steady and when to create waves. He knew when and how to disfigure permanently.

Ordinarily, when he was frightening a new recruit or punishing a tardy arrival, the Dark Lord used only the smallest fraction of his power. Today, though, Severus was feeling the Cruciatus Curse as it was meant to be felt. Somehow, he was less than honored.

His body managed to curl itself into a fetal position on the floor. If he screamed, he could not hear himself for the pain. When clarity began to prick the edges of his mind, he knew not how many moments after the curse had been removed, his body's first reaction was to writhe and wretch and rid itself of the food David Avery had been taking such pains to bring him. His ribs protested, and his throat burned horribly (he now had proof that he had indeed screamed). He lacked the strength to pull himself back to his knees, so the vomit stained his loose, sweaty hair and the collar of his robe. The smell made his head pound all the more, but he was unable to move. Tears would have sprung to his eyes had his eyes not already been mysteriously dried out.

"What have you to say for yourself, Snape?" commanded the excruciatingly amplified voice of the Dark Lord.

"My Lord, I apologize."

"For what?"

"For not seeing you and greeting you properly." Even in his current state, Severus remembered that the Dark Lord most likely did not know the extent of his treachery.

"I do not believe that that is all for which you must apologize, Snape. CRUCIO!"

The curse was lighter this time. It was centered on one of Severus' ankles-- one particular bone, in fact. More specific curses existed for this sort of work, but only a spectacular wizard could modify the Cruciatus Curse to achieve the same ends. The Dark Lord was, in effect, showing off.

When the bone shattered into too many pieces and Severus cried out his anguish, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named resumed his questioning. "What do you think of Peter Pettigrew?"

"Precious little," Snape spat as well as he could. "Not magically gifted and not mentally strong."

"True. Or rather, it was."

"He's dead?"

"The questions are not for you to ask. You are rather like Pettigrew, do you not think?"

"My Lord?"

"YOU DO NOT THINK!" Severus nearly passed out just from the pain in his head. "Crucio!" A bone or two in Severus' foot snapped. "Do you know that I have spies in the Ministry?"

"Yes, My Lord."

"They delivered this to me two weeks ago. Accio!" A stack of papers flew into the room. The Dark Lord transfigured them into an eclectic collection of knives, pins, and even a sharp letter opener before magically thrusting them into Severus' upper body. Another quick spell pulled them into a ball in the air in their original paper form. They burst into flame and fluttered down to rest on Severus once more. Had his clothes and hair not already been drenched with sweat and vomit, he would likely have been set afire.

"Can you read them?"

"No," slurred Severus.

"Stupid! Illiterate! Crucio!" Several more bones met their demise.

"Allow me to summarize," He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named suggested at last. "It was brought to the Ministry's attention after an ill-fated attack on a group of Dumbledore's lackeys including Sirius Black and Remus Lupin that a great many snakes were present. They were killed by some exuberant werewolf wrestling matches. They were analyzed and their venom was compared to that found in the snakes that entered Hogwarts through a portal last winter. An antidote was found which expelled the last of the snakes from Hogwarts! Do you know who alerted the Ministry to the presence of the snakes?"

"I did." Severus could not make out his own words.

"You did. I spent countless hours devising a way to use the serpentine over-soul to create potentially deadly hypnotic effects on Dumbledore's lackeys, and _you_ informed the Ministry."

Severus went slack with relief. He had been exposed not as a spy but as stupid. Stupid was, in this case, infinitely preferable.

"I was wrong, My Lord. I was unthinking. It will not happen again. Forgive me, please."

He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named could not possibly have translated Severus' plea. His reaction would not likely have been different if he had been able to do so. "CRUCIO!"

The Dark Lord no longer had any interest in Severus' remaining coherent, so he did not pull his curse even slightly this time. Severus could do nothing but writhe. He did not feel it when two pairs of hands seized him roughly and dragged him from his prison to the forest floor.

X

His own scream dragged him from a fitful sleep. _Damn it_ he cursed himself inwardly. _I hope I didn't wake up--_

"Harry?" Ron quickly lit a candle that sat on the table between Harry's bed and his own.

Harry pried his hands from his throbbing scar in an attempt to look happy and healthy. "I woke you up. I'm so sor--"

"Shut it," interrupted Ron. His eyes took in Harry's sweat-soaked sheets and pain-paled skin. "Hospital wing? Dumbledore? Sirius? Common room? Was it a vision or just a dream?"

"Ron," Harry said to buy time. He gave in and let his hands creep back to his scar.

"Right," said Ron as if Harry had answered his question. In one long stride, he collected one of his school robes and one of Harry's. They threw them on over their pajamas and left their dormitory for the common room.

By the time they reached the common room, Harry had regained his ability to speak coherently. "I'm all right, Ron. You can go back to sleep."

Ron gave Harry a look of disbelief that was almost comical. "If you're all right, why aren't you coming with me?"

Harry shifted uncomfortably. "I-- I have to talk to someone." Ron unsuccessfully tried to cover up the insulted expression that began to cross his face. "It's just that I can't go straight to Dumbledore-- he stopped using sweets as his password, at least I think he did-- and I need someone who can wake him up."

"You did have a vision."

Harry nodded. "I'd tell you if I could, but it wouldn't be fair to the person I saw. I think I saw."

Ron's eyes widened. "It wasn't-- it wasn't someone I know?" His face went pale beneath his freckles.

"No," Harry lied with the intent of reassuring Ron. "If it was someone you definitely knew and cared about, I would tell you."

Ron nodded. "Do you want to get McGonagall, then?"

Harry paused before replying. Professor McGonagall was his head of house, and technically the person to whom he should take this problem. However, while he liked and respected the witch, he did not feel entirely comfortable with the idea of explaining what he had seen to her. He knew that the important thing was getting the news to Dumbledore, but he had been so horrified by what he had seen-- this dream was perhaps the most vivid he had ever had-- that he wanted to describe it to someone he could _talk_ to.

"Harry?" Ron asked.

"I'm thinking."

"Sprout? Sinistra? Flitwick? Pick someone. Oh, this is ridiculous. Let's just go to Sirius."

Harry shook his head emphatically. As much as he disliked Professor Snape, he did not want to tell his childhood enemy of his painful situation. Being captured by Voldemort would have been bad enough for Harry-- but having Draco Malfoy be the first to learn the details of his confinement would have been worse in some ways. "It can't be Sirius," he said emphatically.

"Lupin?"

Harry considered. Snape hated Remus intensely, but not as intensely as he hated Sirius and with considerably less reason. Additionally, so far as Harry knew, there was no chance that Remus would become so angered that he would use the information Harry gave him to embarrass Snape. Sirius, when angry, would go for the throat verbally-- and sometimes physically as well.

"Yeah," agreed Harry at last. "It has to be Remus."

They made their way to the corridor where Remus, Sirius, and other visiting members of Dumbledore's faithful few stayed.

"Oh no," breathed Ron suddenly.

Harry looked up quickly, but not quickly enough. Peeves the Poltergeist was flying toward them, cackling madly. "STUDENTS OUT OF BED!" he shrieked gleefully. "Potter the Rotter and his faithful sidekick!"

"Shut up, Peeves," snarled Ron. He drew his wand but could not seem to think of an appropriate spell, for he just stood there, sputtering.

In any case, the damage had been done. Sirius' door swung open.

"Harry? Ron?" he asked, evidently unperturbed by either Peeves' still-cackling presence or by being awakened from a sound sleep.

Harry wondered if he should have brought along his invisibility cloak.

Ron and Sirius were both looking at Harry as if expecting him to speak, but Ron at last ended the silence himself. "Harry had another dream. One of the ones where he sees things that are really happening."

"OOO, IS ICKLE POTTER HAVING HALUCINATIONS AGAIN?" screamed Peeves.

Sirius' eyes turned cold as he drew his wand and aimed it at Peeves. Peeves did not wait to see what Sirius' hex of choice might be; he simply fled. "You can go, too," Harry told Ron.

Ron seemed to understand that Harry did not want an audience, even one consisting of his best friend, when he explained to Sirius that he could not tell him what he had seen. He looked back the way they had come. "If I woke everyone else up, you'll tell them I'm sorry? I'll tell them myself tomorrow," said Harry quickly.

"They understand. They won't be upset, if you did wake them up."

"I'm sorry anyway," Harry repeated. Ron left after Peeves, and Sirius and Harry were alone.

"You want to tell me about it?" asked Sirius, eyeing Harry critically.

"I can't," Harry said weakly. "I just need you to get me into Dumbledore's office."

"You know I can't do that without knowing the reason."

Harry shrugged helplessly. "It was a dream. I can't tell you."

"Why not?"

"I just can't. Please, Sirius, trust me?"

"I do trust you. But Harry, for the moment I'm technically as Hogwarts faculty member. I have to follow the rules closely or there will be trouble. The problem isn't my trusting you, it's your trusting me."

Harry recoiled at the hurt that momentarily passed through Sirius' voice. _Snape can't possibly be worth this. Sirius is the last person in the world I should hurt. What did I do?_ He looked up guiltily to meet his godfather's gaze, but what Harry had privately termed the "Azkaban Look" had made an appearance. A door seemed to have slammed shut behind Sirius' eyes.

"Who do you want to tell?" asked Sirius with complete detachment. "The rules are in place to keep Dumbledore safe while he's draining so much of his magic with the defensive spells."

"Sirius, I--"

"Who did you come up here to see?"

"You," Harry lied. Forget Snape. If Sirius was going to place so much importance on his knowing, then he would know.

"I don't believe that. You know the rules."

"Aren't you always saying that the fun thing about rules is finding out how to get around them?" asked Harry, desperately trying to lighten the mood.

Sirius scowled and rapped on a nearby door. "Remus?"

Remus opened the door almost immediately.

"Deal with this," said Sirius, gesturing at Harry before retreating to his own room and locking the door.

"Harry?" asked Remus kindly.

Harry was staring after Sirius. "I didn't mean to--" he began, but Remus waved him off.

"It probably has nothing to do with you."

Harry hung his head. "It does. Peeves-- well, I had a dream and I have to tell Dumbledore, and I can't see Dumbledore without telling a professor why, and I told Sirius I couldn't tell him about my dream."

Remus nodded. "Sirius is in a bad mood for reasons having nothing to do with you."

"Because of the war?"

"Largely. Now, who _can_ you tell about your dream?"

"You?" whispered Harry, feeling helpless again.

"Come inside," Remus said gently.

Harry shook his head emphatically. "No. I'll tell you on the way. You _will_ let me in."

"I don't doubt it." They began to walk toward Dumbledore's office together as Harry explained the dream.

"…And I just thought how horrible it would be for me if something happened to me and Malfoy found out right away. Snape _hates_ Sirius. I mean, he hates you and me, too, but I still thought it would be nice if I didn't go to Sirius right away."

Remus had been paying rapt attention. "You didn't do the wrong thing, Harry. We'll be able to get him back now."

X

Severus was not particularly glad to have been retrieved and brought back to Hogwarts. He hated the hospital wing; and he hated the knowledge that he belonged there. The damage that the Dark Lord had done to his body could not be instantly healed, even by magic. A persistent corner of his mind wished that his body had expired on the floor of the Forbidden Forest so that he could have had done with the mess that was his life.

The rest of his mind was simply bored. He was not physically capable of reading for long periods of time, let alone teaching a full schedule. Albus visited him, but Albus was busy defending the world. Besides, Severus did not like people. He was _not_ lonely. He had _not_ grown accustomed to his students and he did _not_ miss them.

A soft noise sounded near the door to his room, and he sat up quickly. The tiny, private room was off-limits to students who might want to have their revenge on a teacher who had exposed their inadequacies one too many times.

"Mr. Malfoy?" he called smoothly.

Draco stepped into his field of vision. A smirk played about Draco's pale features. "Hello, Professor."

"You aren't supposed to be in here," Severus pointed out unnecessarily.

"The door was left open." Draco drawled. He felt no need to lie convincingly, obviously; Severus never punished Lucius Malfoy's son unless it was absolutely necessary. Conveniently, Draco virtually never misbehaved in Severus' presence.

"What can I do for you, then?"

Draco shut the door gently and slid closer to Severus' bed. "When are you coming back to teach us?"

Severus half-sighed. "As soon as I'm healed. Operosus potions, you know, do damage that can't be healed instantly."

"I can't believe you managed to let one explode, Sir." Draco kept the irony from his tone, but Severus knew that Draco was not speaking idiomatically. He honestly did _not_ believe that Severus had been injured by a freak accident in his lab. In fact, Severus suspected that Lucius Malfoy had told his son the truth, the whole truth, and then some.

"Accidents happen."

"It was really an accident?" Oh, yes, Draco knew the truth. Everything in his manner suggested that he was discussing something of much more importance than a simple-- well, a complex-- potion.

"Why would I do something like that on purpose?" asked Severus, wondering if Draco knew the answer.

Draco shrugged with feigned casualness. "I heard something interesting. You know, prefects hear all the rumors."

"I hope you don't put too much faith in rumors."

Draco grinned coldly. "Of course not. But this was an especially… intriguing rumor. I heard that you were found in the Forbidden Forest and carried back to the castle."

"Surely you know that a side effect of Operosus potions can be dementia. One can be affected even by the fumes. I wandered into the Forbidden Forest."

"You were demented? Honestly?"

"Why would I go into the Forbidden Forest otherwise?" The conversation was becoming circular. Severus wondered if Draco was interrogating him on his father's orders or if he was just frightened. Draco was about to turn sixteen, and sixteen was an important age for a child of one of the Dark Lord's greatest supporters.

"There are interesting things there."

"More rumors?" asked Severus dryly.

"They say that the Death Eaters have outposts there."

"Dumbledore doesn't like his students to know so much about Death Eaters," Severus said without a bit of reprimand and with a considerable bit of encouragement in his tone.

"It's just something I heard. When I was in the library… _studying_. For the OWLs."

Severus nodded.

"I'm almost sixteen," Draco continued.

"Next week, I believe," Severus agreed.

"The youngest Death Eaters are sixteen years old."

"Did you pick that up in the library, too?"

"Overheard it on my way to the Great Hall for breakfast." Draco paused, and his face, already more relaxed than usual, became still less arrogant. "Are you all right, Sir?"

"I'm fine, Draco."

"The textbook says that Operosus potions gone wrong can be very painful." Almost sixteen he surely was, but Draco did not look even that aged.

"Aren't the books on Operosus potions in the restricted section of the library?"

"Next to the books on Veritaserum," Draco agreed shamelessly. "I heard someone mention-- when I was playing Quidditch-- that when the Death Eaters initiate someone, they use Veritaserum, and if they think someone is the least bit unsure, that person dies, right on the spot."

"I believe that that has happened, yes," said Severus. He tried not to think too hard about the last time it _had_ happened. Such deaths were not pretty. Death rarely was.

Draco looked so nearly ill that Severus took a risk and took pity. "Sometimes things do happen," he said carefully. "You know about Percy Wesley?" Draco nodded. "He got past the Veritaserum."

Draco's face lightened considerably, and he regained his customary smirk.

"You didn't answer."

"Didn't answer what?"

"My question. When are you coming back? When will you be healed? Black and Lupin really can't teach potions. I know more about potions than they do."

"I know you do," agreed Severus. "And I did answer your question. I can't be certain when I'll be healed." Even this conversation was sapping his strength. Suddenly, Draco's words made their way to his brain. "Dumbledore allowed _Black_ and _Lupin_ to teach potions?"

"They aren't really teaching the older students. Just drilling us out of the books for OWLs and NEWTs."

"Are they allowed in my office?"

Draco shook his head emphatically. "No. They aren't doing much damage. They're just being annoying. They took points from Slytherin today because I _corrected_ one of Potter's answers and Weasley tried to hex me. I didn't even hex him back, just reflected it." _He never hexes if he can help it. Wonder if Lucius knows? _"I should have hexed him," Draco added._ All talk. Always has been. _"He lost points, but Potter was the one who got sent to Dumbledore."

"I'll give the points back to Slytherin when I come back," Severus said non-committaly.

"Thank you, Sir." Draco stepped back toward the door. "I'll let you rest. Seeing as I'm not meant to be in here."

"Good bye, Mr. Malfoy."

"Good bye, Sir. I hope you feel better."

Severus barely had time to raise his eyebrows as he considered the reaction most members of the Hogwarts community would have upon receiving apparently sincere get-well wishes from Draco Malfoy before falling asleep.

X

Several corridors and floors away, Harry had arrived at Dumbledore's office.

"You asked to see me, Sir?" he asked when the door was opened.

"Come in, Harry," said Dumbledore pleasantly. _He must not be too mad about potions, then-- but that git Malfoy started it!_ Harry thought. "Sit down." Harry sat. "I thought you might be interested to know of the outcome of our last conversation."

Harry blanched as he recalled his dream. "Yes, Sir."

"Your dream was apparently quite accurate."

"It was," repeated Harry.

"He will recover completely. He is resting in the hospital wing."

"Can't he be magically healed?"

"Magic is not always an instant cure, Harry. As I recall, you spent quite some time in the hospital wing at the end of your first year, for example."

_That's true. I was lucky to make it out of that alive. Dumbledore barely got there in time. If he hadn't known I would go after Voldemort, and made sure that Ron and Hermione and I knew how to get by that obstacle course…_And then a mysterious thought popped into his head. "Sir?"

"Yes, Harry?"

"First year, my first year, why did you let me fight Voldemort?"

Before Dumbledore could answer, another memory clawed its way to the front of Harry's confused mind. He and his classmates had been beginning an ill-fated field trip that fall when Parvati had begun to talk to him.

_He turned to look at her. "Hi," he said by way of greeting._

"_Hi. Having fun yet?"_

"_Any day we miss Potions is a good day."_

"_I agree. Oh . . ." she looked beyond Harry to the street, and his eyes followed her gaze. The Slytherin fifth years were walking down the opposite side of the road, looking haughty and unpleasant as they always did. Seeing that Harry had noticed him, Draco Malfoy instantly began to yell._

"_HEY, POTTER! AREN'T YOU AFRAID TO BE OUT OF THE CASTLE? DUMBLEDORE ISN'T HERE TO PROTECT YOU, NOT THAT HE DOES SUCH A GOOD JOB ANYWAY!"_

Harry jerked himself back to the present. "I saw no way of stopping you, and I thought you might do well," Dumbledore was saying.

"No way of stopping me? With all due respect, Sir, I was eleven years old and I hardly knew any magic at all. Aurors get killed by Voldemort all the time."

"You are rather unique, Harry."

The evasive answers began to take their toll on Harry's patience. He was emotionally exhausted from the daily accounts of Death Eater activity printed in the _Daily Prophet_, his latest face-to-face meeting with Voldemort, and his most recent non-school-related conversation with Sirius. "Why does Voldemort want to kill me?"

"He wants revenge, I imagine. You've embarrassed him several times."

"Why did he want to kill me when I was a baby?"

"I told you that I cannot tell you that."

Harry's patience lessened further. "If you've been friends with Mad-Eye Moody since before I was born, why couldn't you tell that he was being impersonated?"

Dumbledore suddenly looked tired. "Sometimes we see what we want to see. We blame circumstances. Your classmates earlier this year certainly had trouble telling earlier this year that Parvati Patil--"

"My classmates aren't some of the most powerful wizards of all time."

"Yet," said Dumbledore with a small, forced smile, but Harry was not to be led into a light mood.

"Why didn't anyone check the maze for things like portkeys? Why re-instate a contest that teenagers die competing in? Wasn't there a reason they ended the Triwizard Tournament in the first place?"

"I am not omnipotent, Harry," said Dumbledore, his voice still calm.

Harry's voice grew calm, dangerously calm, as well. "Can't you attack Voldemort yourself?"

"I can attack him. I cannot kill him, Harry."

"Can I?"

Dumbledore sighed. "To you, he is mortal."

"Why to me?"

"I cannot--"

"Tell me that," Harry completed with the headmaster. "I'm almost sixteen. If I were the son of a Death Eater, I'd be old enough to join Voldemort. I've faced him three times, plus once from the diary. I'm old enough to know what's going on!"

"You'll be old enough soon enough," said Dumbledore in a tone that left no room for argument. "I believe you have prefect's duty this afternoon," he added by way of dismissal.

Harry left as he was commanded. He thought not of prefect's duty, however. He had only one thought.

_He set me up._


	8. Used

**Part 8**

Harry nearly fell down the stairs that led away from Dumbledore's office, Quidditch reflexes be damned. _It can't be true_ he thought to himself. _Tomorrow, I'll wake up, and I won't have thought that, and he won't have said that._

He stumbled down the hall, ignoring the students who called his name in greeting. He overheard snatches of conversation.

"He's so cute."

"Do you think I could get a spot as a beater?"

_How can they talk about crushes and Quidditch when we're in the middle of a war and the person who apparently has the ability to stop the one causing all the pain has no idea what to do?_

"Three witches died, somewhere near Stonehenge. Yes, the Dark Mark . . ."

_I take it back. It's worse to hear people talking about the war. They think they understand. I don't._

He was nearly running, now, though he was not sure of his destination. He needed someone who could _explain_.

He needed a parent.

Luckily, by the time Harry became aware of this fact, his feet had already brought him to Sirius' door. He knocked loudly, not caring who saw or heard, not caring that his last non-school-related conversation with Sirius had gone badly.

"Come in," called Sirius.

Harry entered. Sirius looked at him for just the smallest fraction of a second before pulling him further inside and reaching behind him to lock the door.

"What happened, Harry?"

"Three witches died near Stonehenge," Harry replied mechanically.

Sirius nodded solemnly. "I know." He eyed Harry critically. "Did you know one of them?"

"No. I don't think so-- people are dying every day!"

"I know," said Sirius gently.

"Why-- why-- why--" Harry began to sputter uncontrollably. "Why hasn't it been stopped?"

"We're trying, Harry."

"Not all of us are. _I'm_ not."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, Voldemort is mortal to me and I haven't killed him."

"Where did you get that idea?"

"Dumbledore. I talked to Dumbledore. He all but said he's been arranging the meetings between me and Voldemort, and I haven't done what I was meant to do."

"Harry--"

"Do you know why Voldemort wanted to kill me when I was a baby?"

"His supporters killed many children of his enemies."

"But _he_ came after _me_, personally. He wanted to kill my father and he wanted to kill _me_. He didn't care about my Mum. He only killed her because she got in the way. And there's a reason, but no one will tell me, and Dumbledore didn't think enough of me to tell me what I was supposed to do with Voldemort, so I haven't defeated him, and he's out there killing more people every day--" Harry's voice broke off in a dry sob, but he recovered. "And I didn't even notice what Dumbledore was doing to me. It's like Barty Crouch said, decent people are easy to manipulate! Dumbledore probably sent me to live with the Dursleys instead of someone who cared about me because that way I'd learn _not_ to be decent, but I failed there, too! And I feel bad because I'm supposed to defeat Voldemort, but I DON'T WANT TO DIE, SIRIUS! My life doesn't matter, it shouldn't matter, but it does to me and if it didn't, how many other people would still be alive?"

"Harry," Sirius repeated. "Harry, your life matters. You matter. Dumbledore was not behaving like Barty Crouch--"

"You knew too, didn't you?" asked Harry, his voice rising. "You know more than you'll tell me. You were my father's best friend, you _must_ know what Voldemort wanted with him."

"I'm still not entirely sure of what you're talking about."

"WHY DID VOLDEMORT KILL MY FATHER?" Harry shouted.

Sirius winced and cast a silencing charm on the room. "Can you slow down, Harry?" he asked in a carefully-controlled voice.

Harry glanced wildly about the room for a short moment before consciously taking a deep breath and willing himself to calm down. "I don't know what to say," he admitted.

"Start at the beginning."

"What beginning?"

"When did you get this upset? When you went to see Dumbledore?"

Harry nodded stiffly. "He called me up to his office because of…" Harry trailed off. This was not going well. The screaming had been much more effective.

"Because of Snape?" Sirius prompted gently.

Harry nodded.

"That was what you saw in your dream?"

Harry nodded again. "I would have told you, Sirius," he said pleadingly.

Sirius waved him off. "I shouldn't have behaved the way I did. I was distracted."

"Why?"

Sirius smiled ironically. "Can we save that for later?"

"Okay."

"Can you sit down?"

Harry was not sure why Sirius was phrasing everything in the form of a question, but he sat down without comment in a nearby chair. Sirius pulled another chair close to Harry's so that their knees were nearly touching. Sirius looked expectantly at Harry as if waiting for him to begin.

"Well, my first year Ron and Hermione and I-- Dumbledore was hiding the Philosopher's Stone in Hogwarts. We thought Snape was after it, but it was, well it doesn't even matter. All the professors did something to protect it, but Dumbledore made sure that the obstacles were things Ron and Hermione and I could get past. There was a chess set because you know how Ron is with chess, and there was a logic puzzle because Hermione's good at those. But Dumbledore left. He let us be the ones to protect the stone, and I was alone after Ron had to let the chess set take him and Hermione had to turn back after working out the puzzle. Voldemort was weak and almost anyone could have kept him off the stone. But Dumbledore let me do it. He destroyed the stone right after he kept Quirrell from killing me, but he could have done it before. He _wanted_ me to meet Voldemort. I thought… I told Ron and Hermione at the time that Dumbledore thought I had a right to take on Voldemort, but Voldemort hurt almost everyone in the wizarding world, and I was ELEVEN. I was small and skinny and hardly knew any magic at all.

"Then, last year, they re-instated the tournament even though people have died. There were 'spells' on the Goblet so it would be hard to sneak a name in-- but no one actually monitored it even though they knew it was dangerous. Moody was acting strange, but Dumbledore didn't notice even though he's known him forever. _You_ knew something was up with Moody and you had hardly any information. No one double-checked the maze or the cup, and when Voldemort got me again, he took my blood, and he touched me. He couldn't touch me the first time, you know? And when I _told_ Dumbledore that Voldemort touched me, for just a second, he looked, I don't know, victorious. Triumphant. Like maybe he'd _wanted_ Voldemort to bleed me. Like maybe that was the plan the first time, but Voldemort was too weak or I was too weak, I don't know.

"So I asked him. I asked him today, and he said that Voldemort is mortal to me. Only to me, I guess because he has my blood. He still won't tell me why Voldemort wanted me dead in the first place. And meanwhile, there's a war going on out there even though I'm locked away in this safe little castle. There are people DYING out there, dying faster than I can count, and I don't know what to do to help-- and I CAN HELP! There's something about me, and I don't know what it is!" Harry at last stopped to draw breath.

Sirius regarded his godson solemnly. "Harry, I know you trusted Dumbledore--"

Harry snorted, but Sirius ignored him.

"And in a time like this one, you _want_ someone to trust. I don't think Dumbledore wants to do you any harm. I _do_ think that he will use any means necessary to keep Voldemort from gaining more power."

"And those means include me! That's what I'm saying, Sirius! This is my fault! If I'd known what was going on, I could have gone ahead and stopped the war!"

"How?"

"Killing Voldemort!"

"Very ambitious of you."

"Sirius," Harry moaned desperately.

"Harry, you _cannot_ take responsibility for this. We've talked about this before."

"I don't know what to do."

"You're fifteen. You don't have to do anything."

"Yes, I'm a normal, run-of-the-mill fifteen-year-old."

"No, but none of this is your fault! None of it! You should be protected, not the protector!"

"Every time I see the Daily Prophet, someone else has died! Who IS protecting them?"

"Many people are trying. I am."

"YOU'RE DOING A LOUSY JOB!" snarled Harry. "IF YOU'D JUST TELL ME WHY VOLDEMORT IS AFTER ME, MAYBE I'D BE ABLE TO HELP! I DON'T-- WANT--TO-- DIE, BUT NEXT TO THIS, MY LIFE IS WORTH NOTHING!"

"Your life is worth _everything_, Harry. It's worth everything to me. It was worth everything to your parents."

For a fraction of a second, Harry began to relax. Even if he could no longer trust Dumbledore, he could still trust Sirius. Sirius would make everything better.

But everything wasn't better. Everything hurt.

"You _killed_ my parents," Harry said coldly before he knew he had opened his mouth.

Sirius stood, turned, and, for the second time in as many days, closed a door between himself and his godson.

In his small bedroom, he sank to his bed with his head in his hands. He had expected to fight with Harry when he had taken his rightful place as his guardian. Parents and children fought. Period.

He had not, however, expected their first extended argument to drift into Harry's saying something obviously calculated to hurt him.

_Why was I dwelling on killing Pettigrew when I should have been dwelling on Harry? He's alive, and he's depending on me, and I certainly know how he feels because I don't know what to do or what to think, either. We don't know why Pettigrew was even here._

Sirius rose from his bed and began to pace across the room as his self-loathing increased.

_If I had been paying more attention to him as this went on, he wouldn't have gotten this far. He wouldn't have gotten to the point of saying things like that, when he doesn't say things like that. But I don't for the life of me know what to say to him._

In the front room, nameless dread filled Harry. He knew very little at that moment; but he did know that he did not want to leave the room and return to his dormitory and four well-meaning roommates. Emotionally confused and oddly physically drained, he remained in his chair and waited for Sirius to evict him from the room.

Presently, Sirius appeared. He appraised Harry as if he were a racing broom or a cloak behind a store window, and casually drew his wand. Harry could not find the energy to wonder what spell Sirius meant to cast, and was only mildly relieved when the chair melted into a small bed beneath him. Checking his work and not finding it lacking, Sirius flung open his front door, and called to Daniel, a solemn-looking ghost who often haunted this corner of the castle.

"Would you go to one of the Gryffindor boys and let him know that Harry Potter will be spending the night with his godfather?"

"Certainly," Daniel agreed courteously.

"Thank you," replied Sirius. He shut the door once more, spared Harry a final, detached glance, and returned to his bedroom.

Harry sat on the chair-now-bed for perhaps an hour longer before deciding that, as darkness had fallen outdoors, he might as well lie down. He woodenly removed his clothing, save his boxers and t-shirt, and slid beneath the sheet and blanket provided for him.

His head throbbed as it touched the pillow, and he found that muscles he had not known he had ached from long hours of tension. He enjoyed the pain. He relished it. He had grown used to physical pain-- didn't his scar hurt almost constantly?-- and he preferred it to harder-to-control mental pain.

Curling on his side in the unfamiliar darkness, he found himself irrationally wishing for the cupboard beneath his uncle's stairs. The cupboard was small and cocoon-like and intimately familiar. Best of all, the cupboard had kept Harry from the rest of the world.

_May you live in interesting times._

Harry knew full well why this was a curse in some ways as frightening as any in his spellbooks.

The war, with its constant promise that people about whom Harry cared would die, had been bad enough.

That afternoon's realization that the greatest wizard in the world felt something like helplessness in the face of Voldemort and had so used Harry as a pawn was in some ways worse.

Harry's berating of Sirius had been the worst of all. He had spoken in haste and for reasons he did not entirely understand. Had he wanted to ruin his relationship with Sirius before Sirius disappointed him as well? Had he been upset that Sirius had wanted to make him feel better when so many others were more deserving of comfort and had none? Had he just wanted to see someone else _hurt_ like he was _hurting_? Was he, deep in his heart, simply mean?

Harry shifted uncomfortably. Since he had begun to study at Hogwarts, he had been told on a daily basis that he was "his father's son." That he was "growing up to be a man just like James." One of the few things that Harry knew for certain about his father was that he had been brave. Even Voldemort admitted that James Potter had been brave.

He swallowed hard. Brave men did not react to problems by curling up and hiding.

Tenuous, budding machismo took a backseat to overwhelming confusion and pain, and one tear leaked out of each eye. Harry quickly pulled his pillow over his face to muffle the sound of a choked sob that was rising in the back of his throat. Somehow it seemed that he had been transported back to Privet Drive after all. He had known from a very young age that he must not make any noise, and crying had been a secret, silent, late-night event.

A shudder ran through his aching muscles and, for a fraction of a second, he forgot Dumbledore, forgot Voldemort, forgot Sirius, forgot everything except that he was in pain and he wanted the pain to go away.

He nearly jumped out of his skin when a hand came to rest on his back. He had not heard Sirius enter the room.

"I'm so sorry, Sirius," he choked out almost incoherently. His voice rose and fell wildly, a thing with a mind of its own and no connection to Harry.

"I know," Sirius whispered. Harry felt the bed shift beneath his godfather's weight.

"I didn't mean it." The warmth of Sirius' body drew Harry like a magnet, but he did not give himself the pleasure of creeping closer. He was not five years old. Enough was enough.

"I know," Sirius repeated. He moved closer to Harry and pulled him gently, though awkwardly, into his arms so that Harry's head rested on his chest.

"I love you," Harry added, choking on the words in part because he was sobbing openly now and in part because the words were not easy ones to say.

"I love you, too."

"No--" Harry struggled to sit up more, and anxiously tried to see Sirius' face in the almost complete darkness. "I said the worst thing I could think of to say this afternoon and I don't even know why."

"It's all right."

"It's _not_ all right."

"_We_ are all right. I love you permanently and no matter what. I know you didn't mean what you said. You've shown me that before."

"I-- I-- I don't want you to die. I'm so scared, and everyone's dying. More people will die soon. Today. Tomorrow. It's just luck that it hasn't been you." The shaking became worse, though Harry would not have thought it possible. "_I_ haven't died yet, and maybe because I haven't other people have, and I _deserve_ it for saying what I said to you!"

"Harry--" Sirius began, but Harry would not allow him to speak.

"You've been hurt enough. I shouldn't have anything to do with you, not when I hurt you more, like I hurt everyone. I want to steal a time-turner and go back and fix everything. I want to make you feel better. I want to rip Azkaban out of you!"

Sirius, who had been feeling surprisingly confident in his parental role, suddenly shuddered himself. He felt his own eyes growing wet and thanked Merlin for the darkness that surrounded him as he half-rested his head atop Harry's. "Are you for real?" he breathed, not able to stop himself from speaking his thought aloud.

"Are you?" Harry answered shakily. "It all seems like an illusion, still. It seems like I should wake up in a Muggle hospital and hear someone say that I've had a fever and imagined a whole world where everyone knows my name and someone mysteriously appeared to be my-- my father. And Uncle Vernon will yell 'Boy, I told you not to get sick, we don't have that kind of money for you,' and I'll be back under the stairs."

"I know it feels that way," Sirius whispered hoarsely, still hoping to hide his own tears from the too-old child he cradled nearly in his lap. "I know I expect to wake up in Azkaban, but I won't, and you won't wake up with your aunt and uncle."

Harry sniffed loudly. "I'm scared," he repeated. Tears were streaming steadily down his cheeks, though his trembling had stopped.

"I know. And I'm here," Sirius answered. It was the only answer he could give though he would have spent a hundred years in Azkaban to be able to tell Harry that everything would be fine. His own cheeks had grown solidly wet and he found that he didn't mind as much as he had expected to. "Do you want a drink of water?" he asked Harry.

Harry's hands tightened on one of Sirius' wrists. "Don't go," he said with naked pleading in his voice. "Don't go. Stay here."

"I'll stay here for as long as you want," Sirius assured him. "All right?"

Harry sniffed again and nodded against Sirius' chest. Sirius let his free arm idly rub circles on his godson's back.

"What happened?" asked Harry unexpectedly.

"What do you mean?"

"When I first came in here, you said you'd tell me later why you were distracted when I had the dream the other night." Harry was unnerved to feel the hitch in Sirius' chest.

"This is a secret, Harry. You can't even tell Ron and Hermione."

"I won't."

Sirius sighed deeply once more. "The other day, I killed Peter Pettigrew."

Harry nearly left Sirius' embrace in shock, but Sirius held him tight, like a child clinging to a favorite toy. Harry did his best to return the reassuring hug. "Does Dumbledore know?"

"Yes. And McGonagall and Remus. Maybe Snape. That's it."

"And?"

"I dreamed of it for so long. I craved it, I wanted it, I could taste his blood. And when the time came-- at the last minute-- he wasn't the rat. He wasn't the one who destroyed your family, your shot at happiness-- he was Peter Pettigrew, who sat next to me in class and laughed at my jokes and made me feel important. I'm guilty now, for real, of ending someone's life, and I just can't believe that I have and used that power."

Sirius blinked. He hadn't been able to articulate his unexpected reaction to Dumbledore or even to Remus, but in the darkness, here, his lack of glee made the tiniest bit of sense.

"You aren't like them, Sirius," Harry said earnestly. "You can't just _kill_ someone, especially someone you knew, and not even think that in some ways you're doing the same thing as he is."

"The same thing as he is," Sirius repeated.

"I said 'in some ways.' I know that you saved a lot of peoples' lives when you did it. I should have let you do it when you first wanted to."

"No, you shouldn't have. You don't know what would have happened if I had killed him that time or if I hadn't killed him this time," Sirius said firmly. Harry shrank away slightly but did not leave the circle of Sirius' arms. "But you know what?"

"What?"

"Neither does anyone else. If someone tells you, or if the _Daily Prophet_ or Wizarding Radio says, that something you did or didn't do caused this war to go on longer than it would have, remember that they're full of shit. Okay?"

Harry nearly laughed. "Okay."

"Do you want to try to get some sleep? You have classes tomorrow." Harry shrugged uneasily. "I'm not going anywhere," Sirius added, correctly guessing his godson's anxiety. "Stretch out." Harry disentangled himself and did as he was asked. Sirius followed suit and lay down next to him.

"Sirius?"

"Yes?"

A million potential responses flooded through Harry's mind. "I love you," he settled on at last.

"Love you, too, Pronglet."

This time Harry did laugh. "Didn't you promise not to call me that?"

"Yes, but you said you would answer to it."

"I guess I did."

"You should be careful what you say."

"I know."

"That wasn't what I meant."

"I know," Harry admitted.

"Good night."

"Good night."

They fell into a surprisingly peaceful sleep.


	9. Easter

**Part 9**

Harry struggled through his next several days of class. Awakening in Sirius' room had been much less awkward than it could have been, and Harry had felt more blissfully exhausted than frightened or embarrassed. He still had trouble convincing himself that any of his schoolwork mattered; but he had a great deal of practice dealing with lessons and exams all day and life-and-death situations in his free time. He had, after all, been doing so since his first year.

After a dismal-- even for Harry-- performance in Potions, Sirius called his godson aside.

"You seem to be distracted," Sirius said unnecessarily.

"I wonder why."

"I'm sure you have some experience studying while distracted."

Harry sighed. "I was just thinking that myself," he admitted. "I'm not going to get any OWLS at this rate."

"You don't learn the material for the OWLS the month before you take them, anyway."

"Then why are we getting drilled in every class?"

"So you can pick up a few points if you happen to be on the margin."

"Hardly seems worth it."

It was Sirius' turn to shrug. "I didn't invent the system."

"I'll try to do better."

"I'm not arguing that you aren't trying. I'm suggesting that you need a break."

"I'm sure that suggestion will go over well the rest of the professors. And Dumbledore."

"You may have noticed that the Easter holiday starts the day after tomorrow."

Harry looked at Sirius, startled. He had not noticed. Easter had been the farthest thing from his mind. His brief delight at the thought of the holiday melted away quickly, however. "I'm just going to have to use the time for extra homework."

"The professors have been specifically asked to refrain from giving you extra holiday homework. More and more students are showing the strain of the castle's being under siege. Besides, you're used to four or five evenings of Quidditch practice a week, and you don't have that now."

Harry made a face. The Quidditch Cup had necessarily been cancelled when the students had been forbidden to leave the castle. It was a terrible shame, because four of Gryffindor's starters would be leaving that year and would not have another chance to win the Cup. Next year, assuming the world had not ended by then, Gryffindor's team would be terribly inexperienced. _Do we need Seamus more as a beater or as a chaser?_ he wondered for the umpteenth time before returning his attention to Sirius.

"Harry?" Sirius was asking. "What are you thinking about?"

"Quidditch."

Sirius laughed his most beautiful, genuine laugh. "Understandable. But for a moment I'd like you to think about Easter."

"What about it?"

"Would you like to leave the castle? Another trip to the Muggle world, perhaps?"

"We're being allowed out of the castle?" asked Harry, stunned.

"Dumbledore is advising against it, but if parents insist that their children come home for Easter holidays, he can hardly refuse." Sirius neglected to mention that he was not in the mood to cater to Dumbledore's desires just now in any case. He had swallowed his own anger at Dumbledore's behavior toward Harry because he did not want Harry to become further disillusioned, but he was furious with the esteemed headmaster all the same. Harry was more than a weapon in the arsenal Dumbledore had been forced to build against Voldemort. He was more than a magical prodigy and more than a figurehead. He was a person.

Harry, for his part, was alight with happiness at the prospect of taking a break from Hogwarts and the associations it had recently begun to hold for him. He was reasonably sure that his, Ron's, and Hermione's impromptu visit to the Dark Lord had been the only incident of students leaving the castle since the siege had begun.

"I take it you think it's safe?" he asked Sirius.

"If we're careful. Voldemort has taken some hard hits in the past few weeks. His snake minions are gone. Pettigrew is dead, not that I imagine he was of overly much help. He's lost his werewolf attack force. We've captured almost two dozen supporters."

Harry's grin widened, but then became wan. "I can't."

"Why not?"

"Ron and Hermione-- they've always made a point of staying here over holidays, just for me. It wouldn't be fair for me to leave now."

Sirius favored Harry with a mock-insulted glance. "You think I'd leave Ron and Hermione behind?"

"Really?"

"Really. I've already used my considerable masculine charms on Ron's mother, and she agreed to allow Ron to accompany us."

It was Harry's turn to laugh. "Masculine charms?" he inquired as he fell into a recently vacated seat, still laughing.

Sirius tried, and failed, to keep the amusement from his voice. "All right, but she did agree, and her agreeing was enough for the dentists Granger."

"That's great!"

"You like the idea, then?"

"I love it! I'm going to-- can I go tell them?"

"Go."

Harry bounded from the room delightedly. He scrambled up several flights of stairs, and, nearly breathless, at last caught sight of Ron's bright head just in front of him. He rushed up behind his friend and clapped him on the back.

"Guess what?"

Ron raised an eyebrow. "It must be good."

"I think it is."

"You're running so fast you look like you're about to die, and you're grinning like an idiot, but you aren't sure whether or not it's good?"

Harry considered. "Yes," he decided.

"Well?"

"Would you like to come spend Easter in the Muggle world?"

"You have to ask?" A grin that mirrored Harry's split Ron's face. "But with who? Your aunt and uncle?"

Harry snorted. "Of course not. With Sirius."

"Sirius isn't a Muggle."

"Neither are you," Harry pointed out.

"Or you. But I could see how people could make the mistake with you," Ron retorted.

Harry ignored the friendly gratuitous insult. "Sirius already talked to your parents, and Hermione's. And Dumbledore isn't happy, but he has to let us go. So it's all set! Where _is_ Hermione, anyway?"

Ron shrugged. "Didn't feel like waiting around for you and went back to the Common Room. You see who your real friend is."

"I didn't notice you waiting for me, either."

"I did! I waited for you forever. Or at least for five minutes," Ron protested.

Harry rolled his eyes. By now, Harry and Ron had reached the gateway to their Common Room.

"Kangaroo," they said to the Fat Lady, and she allowed them entrance.

The Common Room was surprisingly uncrowded. Hermione and Ginny were curled up together on a couch with a book open between them. Harry and Ron grabbed a pair of armchairs and pulled them around to face the couch.

"Leave, Ginny," Ron demanded more out of habit than any real desire to be rid of his sister.

"That's nice," said Ginny characteristically and sarcastically.

"Ron, what makes you think I'd rather talk to you than to Ginny?" Hermione asked rather sharply at the same time.

"You will, when you know what we want to say."

"Well maybe--"

Harry, not in the mood to wait for Ron and Hermione's spat to play itself out, interrupted. "Ginny, stay if you want. Ron and Hermione, be quiet."

Ron opened his mouth again.

"Shut up, Ron," Harry said conversationally. "Hermione, Sirius wants to take Ron and you and me on a trip for Easter. Your parents say it's okay. Dumbledore says it's okay. What do you say?"

Hermione smiled brightly, but she cautiously asked if it would be safe. "I mean, Harry, we aren't allowed to go outside right now. The last two times any of us has been outside, we've been attacked by Death Eaters. It's especially dangerous for you—"

"And you know how fond Sirius is of letting Harry do things he thinks are dangerous, the great hypocrite," Ron broke in.

"Ron! Sirius risked his life for Harry every day during the Triwizard--"

Ginny, in her turn, interrupted Hermione. "Just say you'll go," she encouraged Hermione. "It sounds like you'll have loads of fun," she added almost wistfully.

"I'm sure it's okay if you come, too," Harry said instantly. "Sirius won't care, and your Mum already said Ron could go."

"Come," agreed Hermione. "Don't leave me alone with all this testosterone."

Ginny shook her head. "I promised my roommates I was staying. We're going to have a party, too, and it took them so long to be comfortable including me in things after my first year…" She trailed off uncomfortably, but recovered herself quickly. "And there might be a little problem with those girls from Ravenclaw. I should be around for that."

"Why might there be a little problem with girls from Ravenclaw?" asked Ron, sounding intrigued by his sister's social life in spite of himself.

"Oh. Well, you know Frances McCourt?"

"I know the name."

"She's in Ginny's year," filled in Harry. "Blonde hair down to here." He gestured at his hip. "Ravenclaw. Plays chaser."

"She scored on you in that match last fall," Ginny added.

Ron's hackles rose. "They were--"

"Listen to me," Ginny continued. "She saw me in the Great Hall, and we started talking about Quidditch, and she bragged about scoring on you. I said that they could take an all-star team from everyone who ever came through Ravenclaw and it wouldn't beat a team of my brothers and me. She disagreed rather violently, and some things got hexed." She shrugged helplessly. "I've lived with Fred and George for too long. It's an instinct. And Soleil was egging me on."

"A prank war with Ravenclaw?" asked Ron, looking amused, while Hermione looked disapproving. "Shouldn't be too dangerous. Not like it's Slytherin."

"Professor Lupin says that Ravenclaws just don't get caught," Ginny retorted.

"That's because he was almost a Ravenclaw himself," Harry said. "Sure you don't want to come?"

"Sure," said Ginny firmly. Harry marveled at this version of Ginny that did not blush and knock things over in his presence. He wondered when the change had occurred. Perhaps it was the result of long months of wondering if one of her brothers-- Percy in particular had not endeared himself to Lord Voldemort-- would be among the next list of dead printed by the _Daily Prophet_. To those with family members on the front lines of the war, even the owls that arrived with breakfast had become something to dread. Each student feared receiving a square of parchment bound with the Ministry seal and a length of black ribbon.

So Harry, Ron, and Hermione alone did their best to dress as Muggles (with more success in two cases than in the third) and went to meet Sirius as soon as their final pre-Easter class was complete. Sirius was waiting for them down the corridor from the entrance to their Common Room, clad in the leather jacket Harry had bought him for Christmas.

"I don't like to get too close to the Fat Lady," he confided when the three teenagers joined him. "I might have gone a bit overboard with the knife when she wouldn't let me in a few years ago."

Hermione briefly looked as if she might tell Sirius that he had indeed gone quite far overboard, but she closed her mouth without saying anything, and the small group made its way to a little-known side door. The other students who were leaving the castle for Easter would be leaving through the front gate; but, as always, special preparations had been made for Harry.

They traveled by portkey to Diagon Alley, and managed to slip into Muggle London without being recognized. Ron's eyes widened in shock.

"Wow," was all he could seem to think to say. He gawked wildly at the plethora of sights and sounds that composed Muggle London.

"Stop it, Ron!" hissed Hermione, grabbing her friend's arm! "You're going to look like a tourist!"

"So?" asked Ron, too intrigued by the world surrounding him to be drawn into an argument with Hermione. "Why are all the buildings so… square?" he asked. Several heads turned to look at him curiously.

"Muggles can't hold their buildings up with magic, can they?" asked Harry in a low tone of voice.

"I reckon not." Still staring up at a tall (and rather square, Harry had to admit to himself) building, Ron took a step into the street.

"RON!" Harry and Hermione shouted in unison. They leapt forward to pull their friend back from the path of an oncoming red double-decker bus full of tourists at least as awed by their surroundings as Ron.

Sirius, trailing behind the three, snickered softly. Harry caught the sound nonetheless and momentarily dropped out of step with his friends and into step with his godfather. "What?" he asked simply.

"Nothing. The three of you look like you're set to have a lot of fun."

"Aren't you planning on having fun?"

"I _am_ having fun."

"Just baby-sitting us?"

Sirius nodded decisively. "Yes." Sirius could see that Harry looked unsure, but he had no intention of explaining himself fully just now. Harry had, for a few heartbeats, looked like an ordinary teenager, and Sirius would not have traded Harry's brief flirtation with normalcy for the world, much less for the chance to explain that Harry, Hermione, and Ron reminded Sirius so strongly of James, Remus and himself that it was almost sickening.

Almost, but not quite. No, the half-terror Sirius had felt upon first seeing Harry as a teenager-- looking _so_ like James-- had abated as Harry had become his own person, rather than a vague conception, in Sirius' mind.

"You're certain?" Harry prodded.

Sirius took Harry by his shoulders and bore holes through the fantastically green eyes. "Yes!" he repeated in such a way that would have made many shrink back in fear but which only made Harry laugh. Sirius dropped his voice so that it was nearly lost amongst the noises of crowds and traffic. "Are you certain you want to do this?"

"I've always wanted to do this with Ron. And Hermione," Harry said, sounding contemplative.

"But?" Sirius prompted.

Harry shrugged. "I've never done this before."

"It's no different from visiting Hogsmeade with them."

"It's a little bit different, since you're with us. It's almost like… having friends over. Like Dudley used to." Harry did his best not to think long and hard about Piers Polkiss and his cohorts. "And I know I'm being stupid, but I've never _had_ friends over." He grinned embarrassedly. "I did the same thing when I rang Hermione last summer. I'd almost never touched a telephone before, and certainly not because I wanted to _talk_ to someone. I almost hung up before she answered."

Sirius nodded. "It's not stupid, Harry. It's normal."

"It's stunted development." Harry began to wonder if he had gone too far by explaining this little anxiety to Sirius. Worrying over Voldemort was one thing; worrying over a holiday with Ron and Hermione was another.

Sirius, though, appeared unconcerned by his godson's newfound cowardly tendencies. "It's something that you haven't done. It's only natural to be nervous." He was careful not to tell Harry how closely he understood him. Each time he did some ordinary thing that he had not done during his long imprisonment (listening to the beat of raindrops on Remus' roof came to mind) he felt an irrational surge of panic. Were he to explain this to Harry, though, Harry would only be reminded that Sirius had spent most of his adult life in the torturous cells of Azkaban. "Anything else bothering you?"

"One thing."

"Well?"

"Is it really all right for us to have fun? When…" Harry drifted back to the conversation of a few nights earlier, "When people are dying? When the war isn't over? When is it all right to start having fun again?"

A grave look passed over Sirius' features. "You aren't at a funeral, or a hospital, or a memorial service, or a battlefield. You've been doing more than your share in this war and I'm sure that you'll continue to do so. I think you're doing a disservice to the martyrs if you try to dementor the joy out of everything. We're fighting for your chance to live, and I think you should _live_."

"HARRY!" An annoyed shout ended their conversation, which had been nearing conclusion anyway.

"Hermione?" Harry jogged up to his friends. "What's wrong?"

Hermione's dark eyes flashed. "Explain it to him." She pointed accusingly at Ron. "I can't."

Ron rolled his eyes. "She's just mad because she thought she was a Muggle for most of her life and she didn't notice half the stuff I've noticed in the last five minutes."

Harry grinned. "What in particular?"

Ron, already distracted, pointed at a public telephone. "Can't we call someone?"

"Of course." Harry dipped his hand into his pocket and came up with a handful of pence.

"Are they pence or pounds?"

"Pence."

"The paper ones are pounds?"

"And the bigger coins."

"Why would they make money out of paper? Can't the Muggles just copy it?"

"They don't teach transfiguration in Muggle schools," growled Hermione.

"This is one of the things Hermione isn't a good enough teacher to explain," said Ron, his voice full of mirth and mock-condescension. "Don't the Muggles have other ways of copying things? I know they have loads of books. Dad has a shelf of them. There are some in the Muggle studies section of the library at school, too."

"It's harder with money. Colors and holograms and the exact kind of paper are hard to reproduce exactly."

"Why do they call pence "p" when "pounds" starts with "p," too?"

Harry shrugged. "I don't know. Come on, let's use the telephone."

"Who are you going to call?" asked Hermione dryly.

"The Dursleys?" suggested Ron with a bright grin.

Hermione looked disapproving. "What are you going to say? 'Do you have Prince Albert in a can?'"

"_What?"_ asked Ron.

"Never mind," said Harry and Hermione in unison.

"I always explain wizarding things to you when you don't understand them," he said, sounding slightly hurt.

Hermione became appropriately guilty and explained the joke before they crowded into the booth together and let Ron dial the numbers of a series of restaurants and inquire as to their operating hours. Ron's enjoyment was contagious, and all three were still laughing happily when they arrived at the same flat to which Sirius had taken Harry the previous summer.

Sirius stayed in the background during the days that followed and Ron and Hermione nearly forgot that they had an escort at all. Harry was vividly aware of his godfather's presence, but he took Sirius at his word when Sirius said he wanted Harry to celebrate with his friends. It was an easy thing to be caught up in Ron's excitement and Hermione's pained attempts to keep order.

"I think we should go to the Tower of London," Hermione announced one morning.

"Is it educational?" asked Ron warily.

"What do you have against ever learning anything?"

"Why haven't you ever learned the difference between 'school' and 'holiday?'"

Hermione braced herself for a long argument, but suddenly her breath caught and she smirked. "We can ride the Underground. With the Muggles."

"That's true," agreed Harry. Ron fell silent and looked as if Christmas had come early. Harry turned to Hermione. "Why do _you_ want to go? You must have been before."

"I have, but not since finding out I was a witch. I've read that the ravens they have there are actually magical and I want to see them again."

They promised Sirius, who as usual opted not to accompany them, to take no detours and to return directly. Ron gleefully fed coins to the ticket machines in the tube station and tickets to the gates near the platforms. Hermione gleefully stared at the ravens (and everything else) once they had arrived at the Tower. Harry gleefully basked in the knowledge that Sirius had been right, and that this trip with Ron and Hermione was not much different from a trip to Hogsmeade.

Harry was just reprimanding himself internally for letting his memories of his time with the Dursleys get the better of him, however briefly, when his anti-fantasies became real.

Just ahead of Harry, Ron, and Hermione atop the wall on which they had been walking was a sea of maroon and orange. Harry stopped dead in his tracks.

"What?" asked Ron and Hermione simultaneously.

"That class is from Smeltings," Harry explained, edging away from Ron and Hermione. "That's where my cousin goes. We must get more days off from class than they do."

No sooner had Harry spoken than a familiar large figure detached itself from the group.

"Hello, Harry. I didn't think they let you out of your school except for summer. Or did you get thrown out?" Dudley laughed nastily.

"We're on holiday," Harry explained.

"You came here on _holiday_? You're even weirder than I thought."

"You _thought_?" Harry could not resist returning. Childhood habits died hard.

"You've got different glasses," Dudley replied, ignoring Harry's insult. Harry was at first startled by Dudley's observation, but then recalled that some of Dudley's most treasured memories revolved around punching Harry on the nose and breaking his glasses. "Did you rob a bank?"

Harry smiled, and navigated himself and Dudley further away from Ron and Hermione. He lowered his voice. "I didn't have to," he whispered. "You know my father?"

"Your father was a drunk and an unemployed--"

"My father was rich." Harry took his gaze from Dudley for a fraction of a second to assure himself that Ron could not hear him. Ron was sensitive about all discussions of money-- and so was Dudley, in an entirely different way. Dudley's jaw dropped as much as it could considering his many chins. "My father was really, really rich! I have a whole pile of gold in a vault in a wizard bank."

"You do not," said Dudley, but Harry had at last been able to one-up Dudley in one of the few things about which his cousin cared.

"I do," corrected Harry. He extended his left arm, on which he wore the watch Remus and Sirius had bought him for his birthday in July. "Does that look cheap? Do my clothes?"

Dudley stood blankly for long enough that one of his friends stepped closer to his side. It took Harry a moment to recognize Piers. Piers had been scrawny as a young boy, but he had grown in recent years. His face was still rat-like, though, and Harry was unpleasantly reminded of Peter Pettigrew.

"Harry."

"Piers."

Piers stepped closer to Harry and moved into a stance obviously meant for fighting. Harry willed himself not to step backward, although he knew that he had no chance in a fight that did not involve magic. He especially had no chance in a fight in which he was attacked by both Piers and Dudley. "Dudley's my best friend. What do you think of that?" Piers asked threateningly.

Before Harry could reply, another voice cut in. "Harry's _my_ best friend. What do you think of _that_?" Ron had closed the distance that Harry had opened between them. He was at least a head taller than Piers, and his sometimes-lanky body had been made muscular by the Quidditch training that had continued even after the cancellation of the contest. Piers gulped visibly, and Ron let his gaze wander to Dudley. "Hey, Dudley. Had any _toffee_ lately?" He grinned so maniacally that no one could have missed his resemblance to his brothers Fred and George. Now Dudley looked nervous, too, and when a chaperone began to herd the Smeltings students back the way they had come, Dudley and Piers hastened to join the group.

Never before in Harry's memory had Dudley and Piers been so anxious to obey an instruction.

Never before in Harry's memory had someone been fighting beside him when Dudley and Piers had attacked. Oh, Hagrid had hexed Dudley; and the twins had fed him ton-tongue toffee; and Sirius had frightened him; but those had been magical situations. Standing with Dudley and Piers, Harry had been mentally transported to his pre-Hogwarts education until Ron had stepped in. _Harry's my best friend._ Those were very, very nice words.

Harry was saved from deciding what to say to Ron by Hermione's "prefect" voice. "Harry? Ron? Were you really going to fight them? Without magic?"

"You'd rather we used magic?" asked Harry and Ron together.

Hermione tossed her curly hair and turned away. Grinning at each other, Harry and Ron followed. The rest of the day was uneventful.

X

Harry, Ron and Hermione spent their last afternoon before returning to Hogwarts sprawled lazily in front of a television. Ron had never seen any Muggle shows; in fact, Ron barely knew what television was. Thus, the red-haired boy was rather fascinated and had little desire to tear himself away from the glowing box to do anything else even though they were within walking distance of a multitude of less passive entertaining experiences.

Harry had been exposed to a great deal of television at a very young age because it had been Dudley's fondest way of spending time, but never before had he had any kind of possession of the remote control or permission to comment on the programs as they aired. He had often lamented that his formative years had been spent in such a way. However, now that he could answer all of Ron's questions about every show they came across, he did not feel that his time had been entirely wasted.

Harry stole a fond glance at Ron. Ron was his first and best friend. He had had no friends before coming to Hogwarts, but Ron had certainly been worth the wait. An odd feeling flooded through Harry, almost like the feeling that had flooded him when he and Ron had successfully cast a Loyalty Oath months earlier. Ron turned his head quickly.

"Why are you looking at me?"

Harry heard Hermione giggle, but he ignored her. "Are you sure this is what you want to do today? There's nowhere else you want to go?"

"Not really. I've never _seen_ this before. D'you want to go somewhere?"

"No, but I grew up like a Muggle. I want you to do what you want to do while we're here." _Because you might not get another chance, ever _added a nasty voice inside Harry's head. Harry told the nasty voice to be quiet and reminded it that he was taking a break from worrying about the war.

Ron shrugged. "I'm happy if you are. And Hermione. Can you handle this, Hermione?"

Hermione nodded. She was still giving Harry and Ron an odd look, like the one she had given them just before bursting into tears and running away after the first task of the Triwizard Tournament.

Ron returned his attention to the television and began rapidly changing the channels.

"What kind of accent is that supposed to be?" he asked, pointing at the offending screen.

"English," Harry answered.

"This is an American show."

"Yeah. British actors can't do American accents, either, if that makes you feel better."

"Why do people watch this?"

Harry shrugged. "My Aunt Petunia likes this one. Look, that's Penelope. She's the long-lost quadruplet of Susan and Mary and Thomas. That's Susan she's talking to. Susan is an exact look-alike of Kristen, who stole Susan's son and convinced John that it's their son, and she needs Penelope to help her get the baby back. If John finds out that the baby is Susan's and not Kristen's, he'll leave Kristen and marry Marlena. Marlena's the one he really loves. See, he had amnesia and Marlena was his therapist, and she found a file that said he was her husband, Roman. She thought Roman was killed by their arch-enemy Stefano-- there's Stefano, he's also Kristen's adoptive father-- but then she thought he'd only brainwashed Roman and given him plastic surgery to look like that, so John-as-Roman raised Roman and Marlena's children, even after Stefano faked Marlena's death, too. That was when John proposed to Isabella. Then Marlena came back from the dead, and then Roman came back from the dead and John found out that he wasn't Roman. So John married Isabella and Marlena went back to Roman, but then Isabella died and Marlena had an affair with John, so Roman left her and she wound up getting possessed by the devil. John felt too guilty to have anything to do with Marlena, so he got involved with Kristen, but when Tony-- he was Kristen's adoptive brother and her husband-- framed John for his own murder, John decided he still wanted Marlena. See?"

Ron nodded and did not remove his eyes from the screen.

Hermione looked at Harry. "You understand that you're sick, right?"

"It's Aunt Petunia's fault!" Harry protested indignantly.

"How can you keep all that straight but not remember the ingredients in the potions book?"

"This makes more sense. Anyway, I'm not thinking about school."

"We have to think about school soon."

"That's why I'm not thinking about it now."

"But--"

"No school, no war, no Voldemort."

"Say You-Know-Who," Ron corrected automatically, although with less passion than usual. "Who's that?"

"That's Sami. She's Roman and Marlena's daughter."

"But she was raised by John."

"Yes, but now she hates him for having an affair with Marlena. She also thinks he and Marlena like her sister Carrie better than they like her."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Harry, did you do your transfiguration homework before we left?"

"Yes. Why, want to copy?"

"NO!"

"It's not like it matters. We won't need it unless we win the war _and_ live through it." It seemed that Harry's nasty internal voice had taken over his external voice when he hadn't been paying attention. He scowled at himself. Ron switched off the television and slowly turned to face Harry and Hermione.

"You don't believe that, do you? That we won't win? We wouldn't have been let out of the castle if we hadn't been doing well," Hermione protested.

"We didn't leave the castle fearlessly though the front door, did we?" Harry returned.

"These things don't happen overnight, but…" Hermione trailed off.

"We're doing pretty well, Harry," Ron took up.

"Pretty well might not be good enough. You read the _Daily Prophet_. Probably while we've been here having our vacation, more Aurors and families have died."

"There's nothing we can do about that," Ron argued. "It's a… a war of attrition."

"It shouldn't be!" Harry responded vehemently. Both Hermione and Ron looked slightly taken aback. Their eyes met, and they turned comically similar worried gazes to Harry.

"What are you planning?" Ron asked at last.

Harry sighed. If he had gone this far, he had no choice but to go all the way. He could not let Ron think that he did not trust him when the exact opposite true. Time was quite possibly running out, like sands through an hourglass. "I have something to tell you."

"No kidding," said Ron sarcastically.

"Remember the night I didn't come back to the dormitory."

Ron briefly looked confused. "No… oh, about a week ago? I wouldn't have known. I was in the Hufflepuff dorm with Andrea--"

"RON!" protested Harry and Hermione together.

Ron grinned. "Yes. You stayed with Sirius. A ghost came and told us. We reckoned we'd better not ask if you didn't say."

Harry nodded. "I didn't want to come back to the dorm because I was upset. I went to talk to Dumbledore that day, remember? I thought it was just because of that hexing thing with the Slytherins, or because of the dream I had the night before. But I ended up asking him questions about myself. Why Vol-- You-Know-Who wanted to kill me in the first place. He's never wanted me to know. I asked why he kept letting me confront You-Know-Who when most times he could have stopped me. Not last time, and not the time with Ginny and the diary, but the Goblet of Fire-- he _let_ that be fixed."

Ron instantly rose to the defense of his hero. "He has a lot to do, and there were spells on the Goblet-- remember the beards?"

Harry held up his hands. "That's what I thought, too, but Dumbledore basically admitted it. I think Sirius agrees with me. I think that's why he took us out of the castle for Easter even though he owes Dumbledore a lot and Dumbledore didn't want us to go."

This was new information to Hermione. "I thought you said it was all right with Dumbledore if we went."

"We have permission, but he still recommended against it."

"Go on," Ron encouraged. "What else?"

"Dumbledore said that when Wormtail-- when You-Know-Who took my blood, because it was my blood, it made him mortal to me. Not to anyone else." Harry was torn between annoyance and amusement when Ron and Hermione locked eyes and had a silent conversation as to who should say what next. "Ron, Hermione, I'm still here, you know."

"The killing curse is Dark Magic," Hermione said, not even bothering to avert her eyes from Ron to Harry. "If you're planning to go after him again, you don't know _how_ to kill, and even if you did, you don't want to use the same methods that they do. The ends don't justify the means."

"These are special circumstances," Harry said, surprised at how calm he felt. His decision was made. He could not explain that the incident on the wall of the Tower of London had washed away the more minor confusions that had long plagued his mind, and that he suddenly felt more secure with the world and his role in it. He could not explain that Sirius was not at all at the level of the Death Eaters, and that Sirius had used the killing curse on Wormtail. (At least, Harry _thought_ Sirius had used the killing curse; Sirius had not given him details. Perhaps, Harry thought, he should ask Sirius about that before he went after Voldemort.)

"Special circumstances?" asked Ron warily.

"Special circumstances," Harry repeated. "Without You-Know-Who, there is no war. Period. He's immortal, except to me. There's no way to contain him or stop him from getting back the power he's lost other than killing him. And killing him and ending the war will save more people than we can count. It's almost a black and white situation."

"Do you have a plan?" asked Hermione. Apparently she and Ron had decided to alternate questions during the silent conversation to which Harry had not been invited.

"The same thing as last time. Except this time I'll get kidnapped on purpose. They'll take me to You-Know-Who alive. He wants to kill me himself."

"And what if he does?" asked Ron, sounding rather like he was about to lose control of his temper.

"That's a risk I have to take."

"Did you ever think that the reason Dumbledore didn't want to tell you the whole truth is because he doesn't want you to do this? He wants to wait until you're older and you have a better chance of surviving?" This from Hermione.

"Is my surviving more important than someone else's surviving? Cedric Diggory, maybe?"

"It is to us," Ron blurted out. He instantly went to work beating down the flush that crept up his neck and ears. "I know that's selfish and…" he either did not know or did not want to say what else it was.

Hermione agreed. "You don't even know if you _can_ defeat You-Know-Who, Harry. You probably only get one chance. And you probably want that chance to be a good one, _later_. AND, Ron's right. Your life isn't some worthless thing even if you do happen to be the symbol of the whole stupid war."

"You sound like Sirius."

"Does Sirius know about this?"

"Of course not!"

Hermione raised her eyebrows, and Harry thought that he saw a calculating look briefly cross her face. He quickly decided, though, that he must have imagined it, because Hermione suddenly relaxed and changed the subject. "We still have some food left that we can't take back to school. Feel like doing some more Muggle cooking?"

Harry and Ron both agreed. Cooking had been another thing that Harry had not appreciated learning about while living with the Dursleys; but with Ron and Hermione, almost anything was fun. Ron, of course, was fascinated with this as with all things Muggle.

However, they had not been at their task very long when Harry leaned down and Hermione managed to dump a bottle of vinegar-- why there was vinegar in the cabinet at all was a mystery to the three-- over his head.

Harry straightened up angrily, but managed to calm down in the face of Hermione's nearly-tearful apology. "Why did you have that open, anyway?" he questioned as he tried to dry off his sopping wet shirt and hair with a nearby towel. His glasses, at least, had protected his eyes.

"I like the smell."

"The smell of _vinegar_?"

"She also likes arithmancy," Ron pointed out. Harry was forced to accept this as a reasonable explanation. "You're going to have to wash your hair," Ron added, gesturing toward the bathroom. Harry made a face and agreed. No sooner had the door been shut then Ron congratulated Hermione. "Good job."

"I wasn't too obvious?"

"You were very obvious, but that's fine. I mean, that time you slapped Malfoy-- that was obvious, and it was one of the best things anyone's ever done, ever," said Ron sincerely.

Hermione nearly blushed. Ron was never at a loss for words when he was insulting someone, but compliments came to him in an endearingly awkward sort of a way. Ron's opinion meant more to her than she cared to admit, as well; Ron's opinion meant more to her than the opinion of almost anyone else. "Do you think he knows?" she asked before the silence could lengthen. "Maybe he didn't notice."

"Because he's such a famous idiot?" Hermione glared. "No, I don't think he's picked up on it yet. He will soon enough, but by then we'll know what to do with him."

"What _do_ you think we should do with him?" Hermione opted not to waste any more time.

"I dunno."

"That's not very helpful."

"What do you think, Miss Top-of-Every-Class?"

"I think we have three choices. First, we let him go and get himself killed."

"We can take that off the list."

"Second, we can try to stop him."

"That wasn't working very well before."

"We can physically hold him down."

"Permanently?"

"We can tell Sirius, or Professor Dumbledore."

"That would make things harder for him, but I think he'd still do it. You know how he gets when his mind is made up."

"Not like anyone else we know."

Ron straightened up regally. "No," he answered guilelessly.

"You're right, though, and he'd stop trusting us, too. That leaves the third choice."

"Which is?"

_As if he doesn't already know_, Hermione thought. "Which is, we go with him."

"He won't want that, either."

Hermione rolled her eyes in exasperation, not with Ron but with Harry. "I don't care. Do you?"

Ron grinned his brightest grin. "No."

The decision having been made, Hermione sighed and crossed to the other side of the room, where she sank down onto a bed. Ron followed her, and sat beside her. "Are you sure about this?"

"No," she admitted.

"But you're going to do it, anyway."

"Are you planning on stopping me?"

"I know better," Ron said firmly. Hermione smiled. "I also don't want to try to control the great prat all by myself. He's bound and determined to get himself killed." The smile melted off her face, and, for the umpteenth time that day, tears threatened to fill her eyes.

Ron, naturally, panicked. "Hermione? Wait. No. I didn't mean that. He'll be fine, he's always been fine. I won't let anything--"

"That's it, Ron. That's part of it."

"What's part of what?"

"You. I _know_ you wouldn't let anything happen to Harry if you could possibly stop it. But I'm worried about _you_ exactly as much as I'm worried about Harry. You're my friend, too."

"You-Know-Who isn't obsessed with _me_," Ron answered, trying desperately not to look as if Hermione's words meant as much to him as they in fact did.

"He might as well be! You're almost always there. Actually, I believe _you've_ been in _two_ fights with Death Eaters since this school year started, and he's only been in one! And yes, I'm scared for Harry. I can't remember a time when I wasn't scared for Harry. But I'm scared for you, too, Ron! The very first time Harry almost died, after he was baby that is, we had to get through that horrid giant chess set! Remember?" Her voice became a cruel mockery of Ron's. "'I've got to be taken! You've got to make some sacrifices! That leaves you free to checkmate the king!' I don't want to see you 'make a sacrifice' and let Harry 'checkmate the king' this time. I don't think any of us ought to be trying to checkmate the king." Hermione was crying now, and she didn't especially care.

Ron took a deep breath and wrapped his arms around her. "We have to try."

"I'm not arguing."

"For once."

Harry chose this moment to re-enter the room wearing clean clothes and with his hair still damp. He raised his eyebrows. "So this is why you wanted me out of the room," he said, raking his eyes over the scene before him. Ron and Hermione laughed, rather weakly in Hermione's case, and untangled themselves from one another.

"Sit down, Harry," Hermione commanded. Harry followed her instructions in silence.

"We have to talk," Ron added.

The tiniest edge of annoyance tempered by the deepest sort of affection entered Harry's voice. "Have I ever told you how much I love having conversations with the two of you when you've obviously rehearsed them beforehand?"

"I'm sure you love them just as much as we do," said Ron in much the same tone.

"Can I just say that the last time you did this you told me to stay away from Sirius and now we're all on holiday because he took us?"

"Obviously you can say that," Hermione returned dryly. "And we can say that if you go after You-Know-Who, so do we."

"No," said Harry.

"Yes," said Ron.

The mature conversation that Ron and Hermione had intended to have was disintegrating rather quickly.

"No."

"Yes."

"No."

"Yes."

"No."

"Yes."

"No."

"Yes."

"No."

"Yes."

"No."

"Yes."

"No."

"No."

"You think I'm going to fall for that, Ron? Who do I look like? Goyle?"

"Not since second year, no. Thank Merlin. But the fact remains that we are going with you."

Harry rose from his position on the bed and began to pace. "I don't think that's a good idea."

"Why?"

"For one thing, You-Know-Who wants to take me himself. The two of you he'll just kill." _KILL THE SPARE!_ sounded painfully in Harry's head, and he quickened his pacing to dull the roar. "Kill the spare. That's what he said about Cedric." He continued on before Ron and Hermione could wonder what other details of the end of the Triwizard Tournament had eluded them. "And by the end of your conversation just now, you were talking pretty loudly, and I wasn't very far away. What Hermione said about the chess set…" He stopped pacing long enough for his eyes to bore holes into Ron's. "She's right. I don't want it to be some sort of twisted foreshadowing."

Ron shook his head numbly. "With all the things that have happened since then, I don't know why the two of you are so focused on that."

"You really don't know how bad it looked, do you?"

"It was even worse than the time Sirius broke your leg," Hermione added, sounding frightened, but Ron silenced her with a "whose-side-are-you-on?" glare.

"Trust me," Harry continued, not much feeling the loss of Hermione's support. "It was terrifying when that thing took you down. I've had even more dreams about you getting hit over the head by the queen than I've had about spare-killing. I don't ever want you 'making a sacrifice' again. LIFE is not CHESS!"

"How would you know?" asked Ron in a dangerously casual voice. "You're awful at chess. I mean, really bad."

"Be that as it may, I'll not have you come with me!"

Harry cringed at how much he sounded like Uncle Vernon.

Ron rose slowly from the bed and positioned himself inches from Harry.

Harry suddenly felt sorry for Piers Polkiss, who had faced Ron this way the previous day.

"You sanctimonious, full-of-yourself, obsessive PRAT!" Ron began, his voice rising in volume with each word. He reached out quickly, and his hands made contact with Harry's shoulders. Harry found himself forced back onto the bed. Ron loomed over him, eyes flashing dangerously. "You will stop trying to save the wizarding world all by yourself, or Hermione and I will go to Sirius, McGonagall, Dumbledore, and ABSOLUTELY ANYONE ELSE WHO WILL LISTEN and tell them what you told us today. We'll have bodyguards and escorts assigned to you. We'll have tracking charms put on you. Do you believe me?"

Harry did, and said as much. He began to apologize, thinking that perhaps he _had_ been a bit sanctimonious, but Ron waved him off. Silence fell. "So we're actually going to do this," Harry said at last.

"It looks that way," Ron agreed.

Both boys now turned to Hermione. "Hermione? Are you sure about this?" Harry asked.

"I'm sure."

"You don't have to come," Harry continued, eyeing her critically.

"If you go, I go. Why wouldn't I?" Despite her comparatively subdued mood, her voice held a hint of warning.

"You're supposed to be the smart one and this is a really bad idea?" suggested Ron.

Hermione forced a laugh. "When has that stopped me before?"

Harry and Ron, their near-altercation forgotten, exchanged puzzled looks. "Something bothering you besides the obvious?" Harry asked Hermione at last.

She shook her head. "I was just thinking about the day the two of you cast Magnes. Well, you know I couldn't do it."

"There are loads of reasons why that could have happened," Harry began to argue right away. "We could have pronounced it wrong. Your magic might be too young-- technically, it should be. It was probably a freak when Ron and I did it. You might subconsciously think that it's a bad idea for us to do this at all, or just to do it when we're still in school." Hermione was looking rather shocked. "What? That's all true."

"You really did your homework."

"I like to make Remus happy and he was teaching that day."

"I can't imagine what would happen if you wanted to make the _other_ professors happy, too, but that's not the point. Anything you said might be true, but I also might be some sort of liability for you."

"If that were true, we would have noticed by now."

"I suppose." Hermione still did not look happy. "Have you considered trying to cast Certus? The dueling spell?"

"The incantation for that one is awful," announced Ron.

"I think that it might be a good idea if you tried anyway."

They had little else to do until Sirius returned from Diagon Alley to escort them back to Hogwarts, and so they pulled their wands out of their bags and did their best to master the admittedly awful incantation. More attempts later than they bothered to count, though, Harry and Ron had not been able to cast the spell on one another.

"Listen," said Hermione, sounding exasperated. She placed her wand against Harry's chest in a long-suffering way and recited the words in her typical, flawless way.

Harry in turn drew his wand, but laid it against Hermione's chest instead of Ron's. Hermione began to protest, but she wanted to listen for further mistakes in Harry's pronunciation and kept quiet.

They brought their wands together.

The wands glowed.

Harry and Ron began to whoop with delight, and Hermione smiled more with relief than with victory.

"Try it on me," Ron demanded.

This time, the incantation failed; and in any case their work was interrupted by the entrance of an irate-looking Sirius Black.


	10. Last Gasp

**Part 10**

Delighted expressions had never melted off faces so quickly. Harry, Ron, and Hermione had seen Sirius looking so furious just once before, and at that time his anger had been directed at Peter Pettigrew. He had then attempted to execute Wormtail, so the three teenagers were justifiably frightened to see Sirius looking murderous once more. Hermione had dropped her wand and was now pale and shaking. Ron, by contrast, was gripping his wand tightly; and Harry's reaction fell somewhere between those of his best friends.

"Sirius?" Harry asked tentatively, deciding that it was his place to bear the brunt of his godfather's anger.

"I thought you had a better measure of the climate of the wizarding world, Harry," said Sirius in a hateful, if fairly quiet, voice.

"What did we do?"

Sirius did not answer his godson. "GET UP! NOW! GRAB YOUR THINGS AND GET OUT OF HERE!" Harry and Ron reacted without comment. Hermione remained temporarily paralyzed, and Sirius turned the whole of his attention to her. "HERMIONE!" he snapped. He lunged for her shoulder as if to force her into action, and, with a strangled cry, she jumped to her feet.

"Sirius, what did we do?" she asked when she had found her voice.

"What did you do?" repeated Sirius as if he were both puzzled and disgusted by the revelation that she did not know. "You did magic, that's what you did! The magic is so thick in here I can feel it." He waved a hand in front of his face as if to brush the magic from his eyes. "Powerful magic, too. You didn't stop with an unlocking spell or a summoning charm or something simple, you did very old, very TRACEABLE magic!"

Harry nearly dropped the bag he was holding.

"You understand yet?" asked Sirius, still sounding half-mad with anger. "Get out! Now!" They had thrown their things together hastily, and they allowed Sirius to herd them from the room and down several flights of stairs. "Of all things!" Sirius exclaimed under his breath as they ran. "You were smuggled out of the castle, allowed to have a holiday when a safe house would have been more appropriate, and you decided to hold out a sign to the Death Eaters telling them where you are? Do you think there's ordinarily a great deal of magic being done in this corner of London?"

Even if Harry had wanted to answer, he would not have been able to draw breath to do so. They returned to the safety of the castle in what Harry assumed must have been record time. He briefly wondered why the Hogwarts Express was in use when there were so many more efficient ways to arrive at the school.

X

A prefect, a seventh-year Hufflepuff whom Harry vaguely recognized as one of Cedric Diggory's friends, was awaiting their arrival.

"Professor Black, Professor Dumbledore wants to see you in his office as soon as possible," he announced rather formally.

"Thank you. I'll go now." The prefect nodded and strode off, presumably on patrol duty. Sirius began to walk in the opposite direction, but at the last possible moment called for Harry to join him. They stood facing one another in the deserted corridor.

"I'm sorry, Sirius," said Harry as a pre-emptive strike, and because he _was_ indeed very sorry.

"So am I." Harry gave Sirius a questioning look, so Sirius continued. "I'm the adult here. I shouldn't have left you unsupervised when I was the one who pulled strings to get you out of safety in the first place. I nearly got you killed because I forgot how young you all are. You've been shielded from the war even though you're on the front lines."

Harry wanted nothing more than to disagree, but he decided that arguing with Sirius just before doing something sure to upset Sirius further was not the best possible plan. _Besides, you might not live through this, and how will Sirius feel if you don't? Especially if you've just been fighting?_ the obnoxious voice that had lately taken of residence in Harry's head added. For an instant, Harry doubted the intelligence of his decision.

_No_ he reassured himself. _You made the decision when you were thinking more clearly than you are now. Look at Ron and Hermione. They aren't having second thoughts, are they?_

Several paces down the corridor, Ron and Hermione were in deep conversation. They had their wands out, and they certainly gave no indication that they were reconsidering their situation. When Harry rejoined them after saying goodbye to Sirius (and successfully preventing Sirius from suspecting that anything out of the ordinary was about to occur), they stopped talking quickly. Harry noticed that the air around them seemed thick with magic.

_Of course the air around them is full of magic. We're at Hogwarts. Hogwarts is one of the most magically dense places in the world. You're just being paranoid because of what happened earlier. _"Ready?" Harry asked aloud.

"We may want to put our things away and get the invisibility cloak," suggested Ron with an innocence that did not fool Harry even in his distracted state.

"Right, then. We'll do that," Harry agreed. The cloak was summarily fetched, and soon the three were hidden within its folds.

"This was easier when we were eleven," Ron grumbled.

"You should have thought of that before you grew," said Harry. Ron simply smiled. "What? No comment?"

Hermione, not Ron, answered. "Harry, do you understand that the purpose of an invisibility cloak is defeated if you keep _talking_?"

_She's right,_ Harry admitted to himself ruefully. _I have to start paying attention, now of all times. I'm so focused that I'm entirely UN-focused._

The day had been cloudy, and darkness was already falling by the time Harry, Ron, and Hermione were able to slip past the assorted patrols and wards that were meant to keep them inside the castle. They made a beeline for the Forbidden Forest, opting not to remove the cloak while their chances of being captured by a Hogwarts employee were still better than their chances of being captured by Death Eaters. In addition, they did not want their "capture" to be a surprise to anyone but their would-be captors. Their plan, such as it was, would fail if they lost their wands immediately. Things would work out best if they managed to walk into the Death Eater camp under their own power.

Harry felt at one with his surroundings as the cloaked trio glided noiselessly across the grounds. They were soon nearer the forest than the castle. The ground became rough with the thick roots of the ominous-looking trees that marked the entrance to their destination.

Harry could not tell which of the three actually tripped over the root. Each of them lost his or her balance, and both Harry and Ron swore aloud.

"Did you hear that?" a thick, burly, and vaguely familiar voice questioned.

"Yeah. Shut up," another voice hissed.

Harry, Ron and Hermione were perfectly still. Harry could almost hear the Death Eaters straining their ears.

After several long moments, the first voice sounded again. "Must've been some animal."

"Animals aren't invisible," the second voice corrected witheringly.

"Some are!" the larger man protested indignantly. "Like demiguises!"

Harry winced at how close the speaker had come to the truth. His precious invisibility cloak had in fact been spun from a demiguise pelt many generations ago. Both Ron and Hermione gripped his arm to keep him from moving any more.

"Are we in the Far East?" asked the snake-like voice, sounding both bored and angry.

"We're far east of somewhere!"

"Come _on_." The younger, smaller man dragged his companion away, and at last the wearers of the invisibility cloak were able to breathe a sigh of relief.

"Too close," whispered Hermione so softly that Harry could barely hear her.

"All the same in the end," muttered Ron philosophically from the corner of his mouth. "I think we're close."

Ten more steps.

Harry stared ahead at the trees as if daring them to try to intimidate him. He had been in the Forbidden Forest many times. He intended to live long enough to enter it many more times.

Eight more steps.

Harry was close enough now to scan for movement. He saw none.

Six more steps.

_Sirius wouldn't want me to do this_ Harry thought with a sudden pang of guilt. _But if Sirius could, he would do this himself. And which would I rather do-- please Sirius or be like Sirius?_ The answer was simple.

Four more steps.

Ron and Hermione were walking steadily beside Harry. His courage was reinforced by their presence.

Two more steps.

There was no turning back now, not that Harry had any desire to turn back.

They crossed the threshold of the forest, and Harry's hand flew up to remove the cloak. To his great surprise, though, there was no need. The cloak was hanging from the hand of a towering figure in all-too-recognizable wizarding robes.

"You were right," said a cool voice at the same time as a more youthful voice cried with delight

"I was right!" Harry recognized the voice as belonging to the smaller of the two men whom they had encountered outside the forest.

"This is not the time to gloat!" the man who held the cloak reprimanded. "We'll take them in alive!"

"NOT BLOODY LIKELY!" shouted Ron, voicing Harry's thoughts exactly.

When a class field trip had gone terribly wrong earlier that year, Remus had sworn that he would teach his students to duel properly. The events that had followed, however, had left none of the professors with the time or energy to undertake such a task. An occasional lesson in Charms or Defense Against the Dark Arts had been given over to dueling, but for the most part the Hogwarts administration had decided not to make any curricular changes that could potentially hamper the students' performances in the OWLs or the NEWTs.

Harry had naturally had a few private lessons because of his position as Sirius' godson. He had shared his newfound knowledge with Ron and Hermione. The three had also learned an eclectic collection of hexes when Harry had been preparing for the final task of the Triwizard Tournament. At the time, Harry had been the only one to cast the hexes by practicing on his friends, but Ron and Hermione had learned a great deal as well, and Harry and eventually returned their favors and allowed them to perfect their skills on him. Furthermore, Ron was always looking for new ways to protect himself from the sometimes dangerous practical jokes of his brothers Fred and George and had picked up some useful spells for that reason; and if a textbook mentioned something useful in passing, Hermione almost certainly went out of her way to learn all about it.

Thus, for fifth-year students who had had virtually no formal training in the art of dueling, Harry, Ron, and Hermione were actually rather competent when it came to defending themselves.

Ron had already begun to holler spells in the direction of the wizard who was obviously in charge, and Hermione was closest to the young wizard who had tipped off his superior as to their presence. Harry, then, turned his attention to the third wizard, who had earlier pointed out that Hogwarts was far East of somewhere.

The wizard sent a stunning spell in Harry's direction, and Harry dodged just in time. A second stunning spell followed the first, but this one missed by a wide margin.

Harry raised his wand to cast a similar spell on his opponent, but the Death Eater placed a tree between them as if he was trying to regroup.

_I wish I could see his face. Then I'd be able to know if he's having trouble or tired or just trying to trick me, _Harry thought as he warily awaited his opponent's next move._ That must be one of the reasons Death Eaters wear hoods and masks. It's a better reason than not being brave enough to admit who you are and what you think in public, I suppose._

Presently, the tree split in half with a loud crack, and it came tumbling down toward Harry. He managed to force the halves of the tree to land on either side of him instead of on top of him. The he leapt atop the tree, whose thick branches kept its severed trunk nearly a meter above the ground, so as to get a better view of his opponent.

Harry was fully exposed now, but he was still able to dodge the stunning and disarming spells that the other wizard sent his way.

"Come up here, why don't you?" Harry called to the Death Eater.

"You are not in a position to give orders!" the burly voice reprimanded.

"It was just a suggestion," said Harry innocently, sending several hexes in the direction of the voice. He heard a grunt. He must have connected at least partially. "Of course, if you're too frightened to come up here…" Harry allowed his voice to trail off suggestively.

"Frightened? You're the one who should be afraid of heights. You can't even stay on your stupid broom."

Harry was briefly puzzled. He had not fallen off of his broom for years, not since the dementors had stormed a Quidditch match in the hopes of sucking some of the happiness out of the thoroughly over-excited crowd.

He pushed those thoughts out of his mind, but not before he noted that his Quidditch mobility could definitely be put to work in this situation.

He hopped over and scampered under some branches. A hex was fired at his back, but the thick foliage of the tree took the brunt of its power.

"YOU CAN'T RUN AWAY!" the Death Eater shouted.

"WOULDN'T IT BE EMBARASSING FOR YOU IF I DID?" Harry yelled back.

He turned around, confident that his pursuer could not see him. The Death Eater began his own jump to the top of the battered tree trunk.

Harry sent a leg-locker curse in his opponent's direction just as the man was searching for his balance atop the tree. The man swore and fell back to the ground, and Harry quickly bound him with cords that sprang from the end of his wand. He followed with a stunning spell, just in case, and looked frantically for Ron and Hermione.

He need not have worried. The youngest Death Eater, who had been Hermione's opponent, was lying unconscious on the ground. Hermione must have disposed of him quickly and efficiently. Harry felt a surge of admiration for his friend.

Hermione was now helping Ron with the leader, who was obviously much older and a much more experienced fighter than either of the other Death Eaters.

"PETRIFICUS TOTALUS!" Hermione finally cried while the man's full attention was on Ron. He fell to the ground as if frozen. Hermione matter of factly began to add a stunning spell to her work when two large shadows appeared behind her.

Harry opened his mouth to cry out a warning, or perhaps a hex, but Ron was a step ahead of him. "'MINEY, DUCK!" Ron shouted tersely and frantically. Hermione obeyed without hesitation or question, and Ron sent an assortment of spells over her head at the bulky, shadowy figures. It seemed to Harry that Ron was no longer fighting formally but was simply casting every spell which happened to occur to him. Both boys were somewhat amused when Ron shouted "WINGARDIUM LEVIOSA!" and one of the figures drifted off of its feet for a brief moment.

Harry added his voice to Ron's, and a moment later Hermione joined in as well. The three of them formed a small, protective circle and stood back to back facing they knew not how many Death Eater reinforcements. Harry was certain that there were at least three, and he was equally certain that those three were the senior Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle.

Worries whirled through Harry's mind as he fought almost mechanically. _Crabbe and Goyle we might be able to get rid of, if they're as dumb as their sons. But Lucius Malfoy? He can do almost anything. He'd be Dark Lord himself if Voldemort didn't have dibs on the job. And how many others are there? We didn't want our wands taken right away, but we didn't intend to duel with every Death Eater there is! How long can we last at this rate? We're already doing much better than we ought to be doing._

Harry fervently hoped that their luck would not run out in the imminent future.

Then he saw the glowing eyes, and all other thoughts left his mind as his scar burned his skin and his head seemed to split in two with pain. His scar had hurt almost constantly throughout the year, and Harry had grown used to the pain. Madam Pomfrey had concocted a potion that lessened the pain's intensity, and Harry had swallowed his dislike of the nurse's view that he was "delicate" and willingly taken the medicine.

No medicine could help him now. He was barely able to hold his head up.

"We meet again," Voldemort said. Harry suppressed a shudder. Beside him, Ron and Hermione seemed not to notice, and Harry decided it was best that they did not. The small chance that they had to escape alive from their current entanglement would be reduced to nil if they shifted their attention to Harry and Voldemort.

Harry edged away from his friends, giving Ron's shoulder a final nudge with his own as he did so. Harry intended to draw Voldemort near the fallen tree where the first Death Eater of the evening had been defeated.

"You expect that I am as easy to confuse as your previous opponent?" asked Voldemort. Still, he moved on a trajectory nearly parallel to Harry's. They walked further and further from Ron, Hermione, and the other Death Eaters.

"You _did_ teach him," Harry answered, and then wondered from where the words he had spoken had come.

"It is very unwise to insult me. It was very unwise of you to come here at all." Voldemort's non-lips curled into a thin smile. "But very convenient for me. To what, pray tell, do I owe the honor of this opportunity to kill you?" By now the pair of old enemies could not have seen the other combatants even if they had removed their eyes from each other for the quickest instant.

_Now would be a great time, Harry_ he thought to himself. Blood rushed in Harry's ears, making his nearly debilitating headache still more excruciating. _It'll all be over soon_. He raised his wand with a hand he was relieved to note was not shaking.

"Avada Kedavra," he said.

Very little happened. Voldemort certainly did not drop dead before him. He felt a surge of power rush through his wand. He saw a few sparks of green light. He heard a sharp crack.

A second later, Harry felt two strange tugs on his wand. He ignored them, and also the heat that seemed to be creeping into the wand. _My hand must be sweating_ Harry thought randomly.

Then Voldemort began to laugh. He threw back his head, and his laughter chilled Harry to his very core.

"Very ambitious, Harry."

'_Very ambitious Harry' that's what Sirius said oh God I'm going to die I'm going to die and I won't take Voldemort with me I'm going to die and I didn't say goodbye to Sirius and no one else ever loved me until Sirius did and I could have gotten myself killed back when no one loved me but I didn't and Sirius is going to think this is his fault and it isn't and--_

Voldemort stopped laughing and Harry cleared his mind of all thoughts.

"I can't allow you to do that, Harry. You see, all of the spells in this part of the forest run through me. If I were to die, everyone else here would die as well. And you wouldn't want to orphan some child as you were orphaned, now would you?"

"ORPHANED BY YOU!" Harry cried angrily. His confused thoughts always cleared when someone brought up the subject of his parents. "IF YOU CARE SO MUCH ABOUT YOUR DEATH EATERS, RELEASE THE SPELLS!"

"YOU HAVE MADE ENOUGH DEMANDS. YOU HAVE SAID ENOUGH, PERIOD. IT IS TIME TO SAY GOODBYE, HARRY!"

Harry's first thought was to say "goodbye, Harry," but he decided against this natural response in favor of the one he had come to the forest to make. He tried to build up his anger, which was not a difficult task. Perhaps if he was as furious as he could possibly become, he would be able to cast the curse properly.

"AVADA KEDAVRA!" Voldemort shouted.

"LETUM SIMUL!" shouted two more voices. Although his mind was rapidly shutting down, Harry woozily knew that the voices belonged to Ron and Hermione. He could not translate the Latin of their spell.

He could only whisper two words before he lost consciousness: "Avada Kedavra."

The last thing he saw was a second burst of green light, followed by an earth-shaking burst of orange light.


	11. Last Gasp II

**Part 11**

"Professor Black, Professor Dumbledore wants to see you in his office as soon as possible," a prefect wearing the colors of Hufflepuff House announced almost as soon as Sirius returned to Hogwarts with Harry, Ron, and Hermione.

"Thank you. I'll go now," he replied quickly. He decided that it would be best if he did not speak to Harry and his friends right away. He was still furious with them for doing magic outside of their school; and he was still more furious with himself for not supervising them more closely. At the last possible moment, though, Sirius called for Harry to join him. They stood facing one another in the deserted corridor.

"I'm sorry, Sirius," said Harry instantly.

Sirius studied his godson. The apology was obviously sincere. "So am I," Sirius admitted. Honesty, he had learned over the past eight months, worked wonders on Harry. Harry gave Sirius a questioning look this time, however, so Sirius was forced to continue. "I'm the adult here," he explained. "I shouldn't have left you unsupervised when I was the one who pulled strings to get you out of safety in the first place. I nearly got you killed because I forgot how young you all are. You've been shielded from the war even though you're on the front lines."

Harry said nothing in reply, and Sirius internally reminded himself that he had promised to head directly to Dumbledore's office. He told Harry as much.

"Bye, Sirius," Harry said obediently. There was no regret in Harry's voice, nor was there any outpouring of affection. Harry was prone to impulsively hugging Sirius when no one was looking (Ron and Hermione surely did not count, and they were paying no attention to Harry and Sirius at the moment, anyway); but this time Harry simply said goodbye, rather flatly, as if his mind was on other subjects already.

_That's how it should be_ Sirius reminded himself.

"See you later, Harry." Harry did not ask, as he tended to, how much later he would see Sirius. Sirius told himself that he did not mind this omission, and that Harry probably understood that Sirius himself did not know whether he would be spending that night in the castle or off on some Dumbledore-ordered quest.

Harry left, and Sirius set off once more for Dumbledore's office, hoping that Dumbledore did not know why he had come back early or what Harry's last action in Muggle London had been.

"Sirius. You're early," though, were Dumbledore's first words when Sirius appeared in his office. The office was filled with the usual collection of faculty members, Aurors, and eccentrics who were implicitly trusted by the headmaster. Sirius nodded and took his place with the rest, catching Remus' eye from across the room as he did so.

"As I was saying," Dumbledore continued, "the Death Eater presence is still strong in the Forbidden Forest. We have information that suggests there will be a complete meeting tonight, but we do not suspect the school or the Ministry to come under attack. There will be no other attacks around the country if the Death Eaters are indeed all with Lord Voldemort." Many of the witches and wizards in the room winced at Dumbledore's use of the name. "This is in all likelihood the calm before the storm. Something is being planned. Do your best to discern what that might be. Do not let your guards down. Does anyone else have anything to say?"

Severus Snape stood up. "Headmaster, there is a potion in my office--" Dumbledore waved his hand dismissively. "Go. Thank you, Severus."

Severus left the room as quickly as he could. He momentarily allowed himself the pleasure of gripping his throbbing, burning arm. The Dark Lord wanted his Death Eaters to gather, and he wanted them to gather _now_.

He ran through the dungeons to the hidden door that had served as his exit since the worlds of Hogwarts and Death Eating had collided for the second time. The spell that protected the door was partially disabled.

Severus drew his wand and glanced around warily.

"It was me, Sir," Draco said, stepping out from the shadows just before his professor attempted to hex him.

Severus had expected as much. Draco had been initiated directly into the Dark Lord's Inner Circle on the day of his sixteenth birthday. Lucius Malfoy had volunteered Severus' services to the Dark Lord as the one who would make sure that the youngest Death Eater would find his way to any meetings held during the school year while Hogwarts was under a lockdown spell.

"I'll teach you the spell you need later," Severus assured Draco hastily. _And I'll change it right after I teach you_ he thought to himself. Draco was young and had not yet chosen his path. Severus could not compromise the castle's safety by giving Draco access to an entrance that could be used by a hoard of Death Eaters intent on murdering Dumbledore and Harry Potter. Draco had never taken any action truly worthy of a hard-line Death Eater; but neither had he ever suggested in no uncertain terms that he planned to forgo his father, his servants, and his state for a life such as that that Severus led.

Severus and Draco ran to the forest. It was impossible to Disapparate from inside Hogwarts, and the meeting place was too close to Hogwarts grounds to justify Draco's attempting the risky spell before he was of age.

"THE YOUNGEST DEATH EATER!" Lucius announced proudly when his son took his place beside him.

Severus, for his part, slunk virtually unnoticed into his place in the circle. Across the circle, Severus could see David Avery's scowl. He had held the position of "youngest Death Eater" for almost a year. Severus had held the position himself, once, and he understood that it was a meaningful title to the one who carried it. The younger Avery, though, was looking particularly vindictive. Severus had attended Hogwarts with the senior Avery. The two had been friends, as both had been members of Slytherin House, but Severus had never been under any illusions as to Avery's sanity. He had been cruel in ways that had shocked even Severus, although Severus would never have admitted such a thing to anyone. Avery had never been jailed for his Dark activity because he had claimed to have acted under the Imperius Curse. The Ministry had been willing to believe him; surely no one would voluntarily, personally do the things that Avery had done. Forcing someone else to do them was more believable.

David Avery, then, who had been a small baby when the first war had ended, had never gone to school with other wizards. His father could not afford to look as if he favored Dark magic by sending the child to Durmstrang; and he could not bear the thought of sending the child to study with Albus Dumbledore. Thus, the child had been taught almost entirely by his father and had never wanted anything out of life but to be a Death Eater. He had worked hard to ingratiate himself to Lucius, who was nearly twice the age of his father. Now, though, Lucius' own son had arrived and young David was resentful twice over.

"DAVID AVERY!" Lucius now bellowed. "Patrol the edge of the forest. See that no one who should not be here is present. Take Flint with you. Report to Macnair at the guard post if you see a problem." Avery nodded, and he and Flint left the circle together. Flint had nearly been expelled from the Dark Lord's services after that winter's unfortunate events surrounding Percy Weasley. However, he was a recent Hogwarts graduate and as such could provide a unique set of skills to the Dark Lord. Still, he was never allowed to take on any task which required real responsibility.

Lucius cast an eavesdropping charm at the retreating backs of the young men. Those standing in the circle would be able to hear-- and viciously mock-- every word that was spoken.

The circle was silent for several moments, and even then the silence was broken only by a barely-audible swear. Severus was not certain that he had heard anything at all.

Apparently, though, Flint had heard something. "Did you hear that?" he asked aloud, as if he was attempting to give warning to whomever or whatever he was tracking.

"Yeah." Avery agreed. "Shut up," he added wisely. Sometimes, Severus could not help but like David Avery. It was not _his_ fault that he had a one-track mind and a very tenuous grasp on reality.

After several long moments of complete silence in the circle, Flint spoke again. "Must've been some animal."

"Animals aren't invisible," Avery corrected in a withering, long-suffering sort of a way.

"Some are!" Flint protested indignantly. "Like demiguises!" Severus snorted to himself. Which of Hogwarts' esteemed Defense Against the Dark Arts professors had actually managed to drill that gem of information into Flint's thick skull? Probably the werewolf. Severus scowled.

"Are we in the Far East?" asked Avery. He seemed to be losing his patience, not that Severus could blame him.

"We're far east of somewhere!" There was much rolling of eyes and speaking of derogatory comments within the circle. Crabbe, Goyle, and a few other Death Eaters seemed to be nodding in agreement, however.

"Come _on_." From the shuffling of leaves and the brushing of branches, it sounded as if Avery was dragging Flint away. "We have to report to Macnair," he whispered after the two must have traveled a safe distance from the location of questionable safety.

The next sounds Severus and the others were able to here were those of Avery tersely conversing with Macnair and then hiding himself in the forest's always-thick, sometimes-deadly foliage.

Several Death Eaters began to hold their breath. They did not have to hold it long.

"You were right," said Macnair in a very cool way.

At the same time, Avery cried in a way not at all becoming a Death Eater "I was right!"

"This is not the time to gloat!" Macnair reprimanded. "We'll take them in alive!"

The Dark Lord appeared inside the circle with a pop. The Death Eaters fell to their knees. "Rise," the Dark Lord commanded at once.

Severus had been so focused on the arrival of the Dark Lord that he nearly missed the next words that sounded over the charm, shouted though they were: "NOT BLOODY LIKELY!" Severus clenched his teeth. He knew that voice. He had to tell that voice to shut up at least twice a week. If Ron Weasley was outside the castle, than so was the Boy Who Lived.

If the Boy Who Lived got himself killed despite the best efforts of every qualified wizard in this part of the world… Severus scowled and did not finish his thought.

Flint had begun to shout spells. It did not seem as if any of them were landing. Severus had already heard Hermione Granger's voice in the din behind Flint, but thus far Flint's opponent had not spoken. _Don't keep us in suspense_ he thought dryly and angrily.

Flint grew silent as well. Flint's silence allowed Severus to hear still more of Avery's battle with Granger. The Muggle-born sixteen-year-old was winning. Being an insufferable know-it-all obviously had its perks.

The battle between Avery and Granger was drowned out by what sounded almost like an explosion. Branches crackled. Had a tree fallen down? Been knocked down? Flint began to yell spells once more.

"Come up here, why don't you?" a voice at last responded. Severus fought to keep himself from closing his eyes in fear and resignation. Flint was indeed involved in a thus far one-sided duel with Harry Potter. He could see from the posture of the others in the circle that they had recognized Harry's voice as well. Triumph filled the air, though it mingled with anxiety. Flint was not the finest duelist in the ranks of the Dark Lord's army.

"You are not in a position to give orders!" Flint answered rather petulantly. Flint, like every Quidditch player who had passed through Slytherin House in recent years, rather detested Potter first because of his innate Quidditch ability and second for everything else.

"It was just a suggestion," said Potter innocently. He followed his comment with several hexes. He must have connected on one, because Flint grunted. "Of course, if you're too frightened to come up here…" Potter was gleefully challenging his opponent. He must feel confident; but then, he always seemed to feel confident. Something always fell out of the sky to help the Boy Who Lived continue his literally and figuratively charmed life.

"Frightened? You're the one who should be afraid of heights. You can't even stay on your stupid broom." Severus had been right. Flint was thinking more about Quidditch than about the battle between Light and Dark magic. He was bringing up an incident which had occurred in Hogwarts' Quidditch competition more than two years earlier.

"YOU CAN'T RUN AWAY!" Flint shouted next. Severus was rather sure that Potter was too stupid to do something so clever as run away.

"WOULDN'T IT BE EMBARASSING FOR YOU IF I DID?" Potter yelled back, confirming Severus' suspicions. Potter then shouted out a leg-locker curse. Flint began to swear, and in seconds the duel was over.

Lucius began to bellow out orders. No one had expected Potter, Weasley, and Granger to fair so well in their fights. "We'll take them in ourselves, if Macnair can't handle it! Crabbe, Goyle, with me!"

"Good, Malfoy," growled the Dark Lord in a low voice. He had not yet moved.

Severus returned his attention to the eavesdropping charm. He could, after all, do nothing else, not while he was standing directly in the Dark Lord's line of sight.

"PETRIFICUS TOTALUS!" Granger and Weasley had somehow managed to rid themselves of Macnair. They had had very few dueling lessons in their Hogwarts careers, and Severus could not fathom a way that they would survive the onslaught of Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle.

"'MINEY, DUCK!" Weasley bellowed frantically. Reinforcements had obviously arrived.

After several interminable moments of dueling, the Dark Lord's posture grew angry. "I shall do this myself. Remain at attention," he commanded, and then Disapparated.

Soon his voice sounded not in the circle but over the charm: "We meet again." And then, "You expect that I am as easy to confuse as your previous opponent?" They must have been moving nearer Flint's prone form, for their words became easier to make out.

"You _did_ teach him," Potter answered. He had apparently never been told that baiting the Dark Lord was a Very Bad Idea.

And after that, they drifted out of the charm's range. Potter must have had some trick up his sleeve, though, because with a sudden snap, the hidden stockpiles of weapons and illegal magical objects became visible for an instant. The ground seemed to shake the slightest bit as well. It appeared that the Dark Lord had briefly lost control of the spells that surrounded "his" part of the forest; but such an occurrence was inconceivable.

Lucius had obviously come to the same conclusion as Severus, because he ordered Crabbe and Goyle to leave off throwing spells at a now-struggling Weasley and Granger and return with him to the circle.

"Where's Harry?" Granger cried breathlessly. Apparently, her fondest wish still involved getting herself killed.

"MAGNES!" Weasley shouted in response. Severus raised his eyebrows. Had they actually mastered a loyalty oath? If so, why did they not do better in their Potions lessons?

"CERTUS!" Granger shouted in turn.

"Can that help him from here?" Weasley asked as their voices receded.

"I don't know, but we'll use everything we've got, right?"

Weasley's agreement was drowned out by the arrival of Lucius. "Get in the storehouse! Now!" he ordered, and the assembled Death Eaters hastened to obey. "The spells are failing! We'll be able to reinforce them best from the inside."

_And we'll likely get ourselves killed!_ Severus thought but was wise enough not to say. He had been close to death often enough to know better than to show his cards under any circumstances.

"What about Macnair?" asked Crabbe. "He's out there, alive. If we take over the spells, he could die from the shockwaves."

"So could my SON!" bellowed Avery. "But I'm not wasting my time playing hero and trying to find him! If he's meant to live, he'll live. If he dies, he'll be proud to die, a martyr to the True Cause! A soldier of the Dark Lord's army!"

Lucius shouted his approval at Avery's speech, and Severus saw Draco, who had removed his hood and mask upon entering the small and usually invisible structure, turn pale.

Lucius was too much in his element to notice his son's reaction. He enjoyed the thrill of power and command, and he was barking orders at the other Death Eaters almost more quickly than the other Death Eaters could follow them. The entire circle-- no longer standing in a circle, of course-- worked with the efficiency that can only be achieved by those fearing for their lives.

The Dark Lord had surrounded the section of the forest that had become his fortress with protective spells and concealing spells that rivaled those used at Hogwarts. He had mimicked the processes which his old nemesis, Albus Dumbledore, used to keep Hogwarts safe. Dumbledore and the Dark Lord were the two most powerful wizards of the modern age. They were in all likelihood the only two wizards living who were capable of controlling so many spells indefinitely.

Unbeknownst to the Dark Lord, Minerva McGonagall had been known to take over control of the Hogwarts spells for short periods of time. In the event of Dumbledore's murder, for Severus was certain that no natural cause would ever take the great man's life, McGonagall would take up the spells almost instantaneously, and she would hold onto them until a course of action had been decided upon.

The Dark Lord did not have the sort of faith in Lucius Malfoy that Albus Dumbledore had in Minerva McGonagall. Furthermore, though he would never admit such a thing, Lucius did not have the depth or breadth of power that Minerva did. The Dark Lord also considered the possibility that he might cease to live only rarely. In the case of his demise, he hardly cared what happened to his followers. His followers were rather expected to remain loyal to the end and die with their leader.

Lucius, though, had no intention of doing any such thing. Severus could have predicted as much; in fact, he had predicted as much. Lucius loved power in any form, and he was not going to give up his status as Lord of the Manor simply because He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named had at last met his match. He could find new ways to be vindictive; he could find new ways to intimidate and increase his fortune; he could even father a new heir should Draco be lost in this unfortunate skirmish. He could not replace his own life.

One by one, the Death Eaters unthreaded the conglomeration of spells that the Dark Lord had been controlling. It was easy to pull a small spell from his power and whisper "finite incantantem." That done, the chance that an entire section of the Forbidden Forest would explode, and that the people inside it would be trapped by the anti-Apparition spells that were always the last to fall apart, lessened.

Lucius was beginning to sweat. _I would not have thought it possible_ Severus thought with something of a smirk as he continued to untie spells. These magic tricks took a great deal of energy out of some of the Death Eaters-- thick Crabbe and Goyle, and old, stooped Nott-- but they were second nature to Severus. He had learned the requisite magic by age twelve.

"SEVERUS!" Lucius now bellowed.

"Lucius?" asked Severus innocently, enjoying the image of calm he was able to project when everyone else was panicking. If he was to die, he would die on his own terms, thank you very much.

"Can you reinforce the Magpro spell?"

_Lucius must not have any faith in He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named now_ Severus thought wryly. "Yes," he answered.

He had never reinforced a 'Magpro' spell in his life. No one had. The spell did not even have a proper name. 'Magpro' was a combination of 'Magnes,' the spell which most believed the Dark Lord had adapted to summon his Death Eaters, and 'promise,' because all Death Eaters promised their loyalty and magic to the Dark Lord. The 'Magpro' spell allowed a weakened Dark Lord to drain the magical energy of his followers.

Severus began to concentrate on one of the many innocuous-looking objects (the petrified head of a unicorn with the wand that had killed it clenched in its teeth) in the room that was actually a spell filter. He whispered several spells under his breath.

"That's working! That's working!" Lucius cried in delight.

Severus felt a surge of Dark Magic rush through him. No magic felt this strong; no magic other than Avada Kedavra. The Dark Lord must have tried to cast the spell again.

_Here's hoping it was Granger or Weasley and not Potter,_ Severus thought.

Then his hand slipped and he cut whatever power the Dark Lord was pulling through the 'Magpro.'

"WHOSE SIDE ARE YOU ON?" Lucius cried angrily.

_Wouldn't you like to know_. "Do you want to try it?" Severus asked dangerously.

Lucius had no opportunity to respond, because bright blasts of green and orange light began to fill the air.

"KEEP WORKING!" Lucius commanded.

"WE SHOULD BE RUNNING!" someone yelled in protest.

Severus decided that this might be an excellent time to show his true colors. As if reading his thoughts, Lucius rounded on Severus.

"FIX THAT!"

"I can't."

"Can't or won't, you Mudblood-loving--"

Severus raised his wand.

"WHY AREN'T WE RUNNING?" a voice yelled once more. Several Death Eaters took advantage of Lucius' distraction to do just that.

"WILL YOU THROW YOURSELF ON DUMBLEDORE'S MERCY?" Avery roared after them. The only way to get away from the explosions without first destroying all of the Dark Lord's spells would be to head towards Hogwarts grounds and face capture at the hands of the Aurors who were staying there.

Lucius raised his wand.

"If you want to restore the Magpro spell, I suggest you point your wand somewhere other than at me," Severus stated coolly.

"Our Lord never should have let you off as easily as he did when he punished you last!" Lucius snapped. "Avery!"

"Yes?"

"Help me with this! Now!"

"We can't fix it. Our best chance is to leave," Severus interrupted, not certain as to why he was not anxious to leave Lucius, who had long been a thorn in his side, here to die. Avery at least had been a childhood friend, not that Severus put any stock in childhood friendships.

Lucius and Avery ignored him, one mad with the desire for power and the other mad in general. The other Death Eaters who had not fled continued at their tasks rigidly, mechanically.

"Draco!" Severus commanded as if he were in the Slytherin Common Room and demanding a report from one of his prefects.

"Sir?" Draco's voice was shaking, and so were his hands.

"Come with me."

"Don't do it, Draco," Lucius reprimanded without looking up. Then he turned his attention to Severus. "Do you plan to throw yourself on Dumbledore's mercy again, as well?"

"Yes," said Severus nonchalantly. For all of Severus' adult life, his survival had depended on his ability to shape the way the rest of the world perceived him. His image would be severely damaged by his sprinting away from the storehouse; nonetheless, this was exactly what he was about to do. The world seemed to shudder.

"Draco!" Severus commanded again.

"I can't," said a voice that did not sound as if it belonged to Hogwarts' resident confident fifth-year.

Severus turned and ran toward the place where the Dark Lord must be at battle with Potter.

He was thrown to his knees when a giant orange fireball erupted behind him where the invisible storehouse had once stood.

It did not take a genius (although Severus _was_ a genius) to know that those who had remained inside had been killed. If the shock of the first explosion had not killed them, the spilling of toxic poisons and the loosing of dangerous creatures surely had.

Severus pulled himself back to his feet and continued running. He had obviously headed in the right direction; nearby was the tree which he had heard fall.

Then he grasped another tree for support. Lying on the ground was the all-powerful wizard whose name most feared to say.

Lying several feet away, limbs entangled in an unruly way, were Potter, Weasley, and Granger.

He steeled himself to step forward and inspect the carnage.


	12. The Boy Who Lived

Part 12

Knowing that in all likelihood the Dark Lord was not dead, Severus stepped to his "master's" side first. He saw no signs of life: no movement, no breath, no heartbeat. But had the Dark Lord even exhibited these signs of humanity before his latest tangle with Potter? He reached out to touch the robes whose hem he had often been forced to kiss, but just before he made contact he withdrew his hand as if burned. Initiating uninvited contact with the Dark Lord was strictly taboo. He briefly considered conjuring himself a ten foot pole before scolding himself for being a slave to superstition. He reached out once more and rolled the Dark Lord onto his back.

What he saw made him recoil in horror. He had seen many, many dead bodies during the course of this war and the last. Some he had seen fall; some he had seen after they had been left to rot; some he had seen had been subjected to extended periods of torture; some he had seen had died instantly as a result of Avada Kedavra.

None had looked like this.

A few vestiges of shriveled flesh still clung to the exposed skull. Fine cracks were appearing rapidly in the bone; as fast as they appeared, they filled with a red substance, like blood, but not. Fragments of bone began to fall away in a fine powder as the cracks webbed across the surface of the skull. Beneath them was a mass of white matter that began to collapse into itself as soon as it was exposed to the dank forest air.

Severus ran his eyes down the rest of the length of the body and quickly decided that he was glad it was covered by robes still. A fine, green mist was rising from beneath the robes, and Severus observed it warily. The Dark Lord had purported to be mortal, but Severus had a healthy respect for the possibility that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named had devised a plan which would allow him to find a body to share. So far as Severus knew, though, the other Death Eaters had died, and _he_ certainly had no plans to prolong the life of one of the most destructive forces in wizarding history.

Without taking his eyes from the corpse, Severus walked backward until he nearly tripped over the entangled bodies of Potter and his cohorts. He lowered himself to the ground and reached at random for a wrist. Granger's. Her pulse was faint and thready but certainly present. The same proved true for Potter and Weasley.

As Severus began to conjure stretchers, something which he had been forced to do far too many times for this particular triumvirate, he heard footsteps approaching.

"This way," he called out hoarsely, knowing that his directions would be equally appreciated by either side.

"Severus!" In an instant, Albus Dumbledore appeared at Severus' side. His keen eyes took in the situation far more quickly than Severus' had. "Step back," he ordered, and Severus obeyed.

Dumbledore, looking every inch the most powerful wizard alive, sent a combination of spells at the green cloud. It froze, condensed, and dissipated. As soon as the green mist was gone, the Dark Lord's robes fell into a shapeless heap on the ground. The corpse had vanished.

"Are they alive?" Dumbledore now asked, pointed his wand at the tangled mess of unconscious children at Severus' feet.

"Yes," Severus assured him.

Together, Severus and Dumbledore completed the job of placing Potter, Weasley, and Granger on the newly conjured stretchers. As they did so, the other members of Dumbledore's trusted army began to arrive en masse. A cacophony of questions assaulted Severus' ears.

"Are they--"

"How could they have gotten--"

"When--"

"What--"

"Is that--"

"Is it possible--"

"Do you think--"

Dumbledore held up his wand for silence. "Harry, Ron, and Hermione are alive. Lord Voldemort is not."

A gasp rose from every throat but Severus' and Dumbledore's. Despite Dumbledore's earlier command for silence, a sharp murmur of "Merlin's beard!" ran through the group.

"Please find any of Voldemort's supporters who might still be in the forest. Please be careful. Minerva, Severus, you had best accompany me to the castle." Dumbledore scanned the group. "And Sirius as well." Severus' mouth naturally turned downward at the mention of his longtime enemy's name, but when sent Black a challenging look he received no response. Black had, predictably, maneuvered himself to Potter's side, but he was not melting all over the child in an attempt to convey pride or worry. He was simply staring.

The small group made its way to the castle in silence. "Minerva, take them to Madam Pomfrey."

"Yes, Dumbledore," she replied obediently, as if the shock of the evening's events had not yet penetrated her brain.

"Leave them to her. Then gather the students in the Great Hall. Tell the prefects you are depending upon them to keep order. Ask the house elves what they can do in the way of a feast."

"Yes, Dumbledore," she repeated.

"I will break the news to the students as soon as I have broken it to Minister Fudge."

McGonagall snapped out of her reverie. "Do you think that's wise?"

"I do like to give Cornelius the impression that he is still in charge, yes. This is not bad news. He will hardly be able to do any harm."

McGonagall nodded curtly and directed the train of stretchers toward the hospital wing. Black walked along near her, still unseeing.

"Severus, would you like to adjourn to your office?" asked Dumbledore with false levity.

_Why should it be false?_ Severus asked himself. _He has achieved what he's worked for. What we've all worked for. And he's lost nothing._ "Certainly, Headmaster," was all he said aloud.

They traveled again in silence, and remained silent until Severus had thrown half a dozen locking spells in the general direction of his door. His usual taste for precision had deserted him.

"Well, Severus?" Dumbledore asked when they had had done with the business of sitting down and staring at each other until one was forced to break the silence.

"You are certain he's dead?"

Dumbledore smiled wryly. "I would not say such a thing lightly."

"What spells did you cast when you first arrived?" Severus pressed on. He knew that Dumbledore was desperate to hear his report, but he also knew that Dumbledore would indulge him and answer his question.

"A rather complex freezing spell-- quite useless most of the time, really-- and a few evaporating and scattering spells. Lord Voldemort had not yet made himself immortal. He was so desperate to have Harry's blood, and the mark of Lily's sacrifice, that he did not think that his ability to find a body to take over or share would be vastly lessened by the genuine _goodness_ they contained. He attempted to find a host, but he was unable to do so. My destroying the remnants of the spells he cast on himself was probably not even necessary."

Severus nodded in understanding.

"Do you have reason to believe otherwise, Severus?"

"No."

"I do need you to tell me what happened."

"I don't think your Aurors will be bringing anyone back alive."

"We have three men in custody already. They came to the castle begging for mercy-- that was when we set out looking for the meeting."

"Almost half of the Death Eaters tried to run away. Most ran into anti-Apparition shields and the like, I'm sure."

"And the half that did not run away?"

"Destroyed with their leader." Severus took a deep breath. "Draco Malfoy among them."

A look of deep exhaustion crossed Dumbledore's face. This, Severus reflected, was one of the few times when the man truly looked his age. _I can only imagine how he would look if it had been Potter who died and not a useless Slytherin,_ he added sourly.

"Can you tell me the whole story? From the time you left my office? I assume you felt the Dark Mark burn."

"Yes," Severus agreed. He recited the entire saga to the headmaster. He had given accounts of so many meetings and events to the man that it felt like second nature now. It was almost relaxing to tell the story to someone else, especially because he managed not to mention the expression in Draco's eyes when he had realized that his father would not have minded seeing him dead on a magical battlefield or the quaver in his voice as he'd said what Severus assumed had been his last words: "I can't."

The old wizard, however, completely grasped the situation without Severus' giving a complete explanation. Severus was not sure whether he felt pleased or annoyed by this. "He may have survived, Severus."

Severus shook his head. "No. The odds are nonexistent." He sighed. "I'm going to have to contact his mother."

"I'll handle it, if you prefer."

"I don't," said Severus firmly.

"Well, do wait until we've recovered his body."

As if on cue, a light knock sounded on Severus' office door. "Come in," he called, idly removing the locking spells.

"I have a report for you, Headmaster," said Cynthia Ryan without stepping all the way into Severus' office.

"Yes, Cynthia?"

"We have not found anyone else alive. We have found fifteen bodies thus far. Among them was a Hogwarts student." She kept her voice firmly, professionally disconnected as she removed a prefect's badge from her pocket and placed it on Severus' desk.

"Draco Malfoy," Dumbledore filled in wearily. "Very well, Severus, I suppose you _will_ be contacting Narcissa. Cynthia, will you come with me to speak to Minister Fudge…"

Dumbledore left the room engrossed in conversation with Cynthia and without saying a proper goodbye to Severus. Severus was grateful. He was not a fan of human contact in the best of times, and today was _not_ the best of times for Severus, though the rest of the world was about to erupt with happiness as it had over fourteen years ago.

Whether he liked it or not, Severus now had the duty of speaking to Draco's mother. He had known Narcissa for years; she had been just a few classes ahead of him at Hogwarts. She had always been concerned with her appearance first, her status second, and everything else a distant third. It had been no wonder that she had married the much-older, rich, powerful, and handsome Lucius Malfoy. The beautiful woman had, as promised, produced a beautiful child for her husband.

And that child was dead.

Severus threw a pinch of powder into the fire, not knowing whether he feared that Narcissa would fall to pieces at the loss of her only child or that she would not.

It took a moment for Narcissa to respond to Severus' call.

"Severus," she stated calmly when she at last appeared. One would never have known that it was late at night and that Narcissa had been home alone, sleeping or awaiting her husband's return. Her hair and makeup were impeccable and would not have been out of place on the cover of the latest edition of Witch Weekly.

"Narcissa, I regret to bother you."

She sniffed haughtily, as if to say that Severus most certainly should regret such an inconvenience. _Any other mother would have been asking if there was a problem with her child by now… well, perhaps mine wouldn't have… but it was common assumption that I would either rise to the top of the Dark Lord's army or get myself killed trying before I finished Hogwarts… of course, that was common assumption for Draco, as well._ Severus had broken the mold. Draco had not. He had not been granted the time.

"There was a skirmish between the followers of the Dark Lord and the practitioners of Light Magic on Hogwarts grounds tonight."

Narcissa batted her eyes, clearly wondering why she should care.

Severus continued. "Your son was… in the crossfire." That statement was not strictly untrue, and Severus was smoothing over the story of Draco's death at least as much for himself as for Narcissa. Narcissa still did not react. "We did everything we could to protect him, but he did not survive. He died quickly. He was not in pain."

Narcissa, at last, spoke. "Oh my God." To Severus' surprise, tears filled her eyes. "Oh-but he was-"

"I'm sorry," said Severus stupidly. _I should have let Dumbledore do this. He's better at it._

"-so beautiful." Severus nodded in sympathy. "So beautiful," she repeated. And she severed the connection between them. Severus did not concern himself with that. It was not his place to tell her that Lucius was dead as well. She and Lucius had made their own beds, and they could lie in them for all Severus cared.

Draco, though, had been a different story. _I can't _rang in Severus' ears once more.

"You could have," he whispered aloud to his empty office. His whispering quickly turned to rage. _If your parents weren't like my parents, if they hadn't failed you by raising you to worship one side and letting you be cursed with the intelligence and the opportunity to see the other side. If they hadn't failed you… _Severus shook his head as if to clear it. He hated it when his mental line between Draco and himself blurred.

_I failed you, too. I should have pushed you toward the Light. I should have encouraged you to doubt your father more actively. I should have--_

It hardly mattered now. The war was over, and Draco Malfoy happened to be one of the casualties. No one would mind. After all, Draco had died with the Dark Mark on his arm and Death Eater insignia on his robes, and why shouldn't a sixteen-year-old die for doing the thing he had been taught all his life to do? It wasn't as if Draco had been surnamed "Potter."

In a few months, the trouble would end for Severus as well. He'd have to deal with Ministry reports and inquiries, but Dumbledore would deliver him from the worst of them as a final thank-you for his services. Then Severus would be free to leave the safety of the castle. His debt to Dumbledore would have been paid; and there would no longer be any real reason for an ex-Death Eater to remain in the castle and attempt to steer students from notoriously Dark families away from Dark Magic.

Severus had not done especially good work, in any case. As much of a burden as it had sometimes been to have Lucius Malfoy's son and spy in his House, and as disturbing as it had sometimes been to see the boy replaying his own childhood with a different rival Potter, Severus had been fond of and proud of Draco. It had been his job to turn Draco's head away from his father's legacy, and he had not succeeded.

Tiredly, he passed a hand over his eyes. His hand came away wet; he stared at the wetness with clinical detachment.

Someone interrupted his reverie by arriving at his door.

"Come in?" he asked, startled. Pansy Parkinson peeked hesitantly around the corner. "Aren't you supposed to be in the Great Hall?"

"Yes," she said.

"Why aren't you there?" he continued, his customary threat creeping into his voice.

"Is it true?" she blurted out.

"Miss Parkinson, if you are going to waste my time asking questions about whatever rumors have been flying through the school when I ought to be giving you detention for being outside the Great Hall, the least you could do is tell me exactly which rumor you would like me to confirm."

"They're saying that You-Know-Who is gone."

"That's true."

"Gone for good."

"Also true."

"And they're saying--" her voice broke rapidly and randomly, but she continued "they're saying Draco is dead."

"How did you hear that?" asked Severus coldly.

Pansy dropped whatever pretenses she had been planning on using. "I wasn't in the common room when the prefects starting sending everyone to the Great Hall. Someone shouted at me to go, but I looked down the hall I was passing-- I heard Professor Ryan say-- it sounded like she said--"

"To whom did you repeat this?" Severus' voice was now capable of freezing lava.

"No one." Pansy's words were barely audible, and in spite of himself Severus felt his anger starting to dissolve.

"See that you do not. None of the rest of his friends deserve to find out the way you did, do they?"

"No." She stood staring at him for a moment. "You-Know-Who-- it's all over?" she repeated, as if in shock, which, Severus reminded himself, she probably was.

"It's over. You're a Hogwarts student. You ought to be glad," he said automatically. It was an old game he played with members of his House. He would sardonically imply that they supported the Dark Lord while explicitly telling them to support Dumbledore and hoping to subliminally convince them to forgo the Dark Lord. Draco had been able to play the game to perfection, and Pansy was not far behind.

"I--" Instead of making a witty retort or removing herself from Severus' office before he gave her detention, Pansy extracted her wand and handed it to her professor. "I don't think I should keep this."

"Miss Parkinson, you will have a great deal of difficulty passing your OWL exams if you do not have a wand."

"I don't want to pass the OWL exams, Sir. You need to expel me."

"Unlikely, Miss Parkinson." Her record was rather clean. No worse than Draco's, and better than many of her classmates'.

"NO! You need to expel me! Expel me! Please!" she cried with obvious desperation.

"Might I ask why?"

"I did it. I helped him. I never really saw him, but someone gave me the wand, and took me to the back room of a restaurant in Hogsmeade. He taught me the curse. He taught me the charms I needed so I could keep it under control. He taught me how to let them control it from outside the classroom. Padma Patil, I mean. Last fall. I knew about them switching the twins-- I even helped, I can tell them apart, you know, without looking to see who's wearing which House colors, we grew up together." Pansy was rambling in the way peculiar to someone who had kept a secret for a long time. Severus suspected that at this moment she would have spilled her deepest thoughts to anyone who happened to be in a position to listen.

"I don't know why I did it," Pansy continued. "I never actually did anything like that before. My family-- my family doesn't do that, but my parents always said I was their ticket to the next level. Money and status, I would have had them if I'd married Draco, but my father was so afraid that his father would back out of the engagement. They engaged Draco and me when we were babies. So when I had a chance to help You-Know-Who, I thought I would help him and help my father. I didn't think there was a chance You-Know-Who would die! I didn't think there was a chance _Draco_ would-- I didn't really think of anything. I thought I was doing the right thing, but it was wrong in every way-- you see, you have to take my wand and expel me!"

Severus shook his head slightly. He did not claim to have a perfect grasp on that night's situation, but entering a professor's office and confessing to Dark activity was something he understood very well. "No, I don't, Pansy," he said.

"Yes, you--"

His eyes fell on the prefect's badge still sitting atop his desk. He had intended to give it to Narcissa, but she had left too abruptly. Instead, he handed the badge to Pansy.

"Was this his?" she asked, tears threatening to course down her cheeks.

"Yes."

"Why…?"

"I want you to start wearing it next week."

"Are you mad?"

"That is an inappropriate question to pose to a professor, Miss Parkinson. If you weren't in Slytherin, I would take points from your house."

"You can't listen to someone tell you about helping You-Know-Who and then just hand them responsibility."

_It's hardly the first time it's happened. If you only knew about the precedent for this!_ "As it happens, I can. Now, do you want to go to the Great Hall?"

She shook her head in the negative.

"I thought not. You have my permission to return to your dormitory. Do not speak to anyone about this conversation until we have spoken again. And we _will_ speak again."

Pansy mumbled several "thank yous" and left the office.

Severus began to consider that perhaps he should remain at Hogwarts after all.

X

Many floors above Severus' dungeon, another Head of House was also concerned about her students.

"What do you mean, you can't tell me? I demand that you tell me! Poppy!"

"Minerva, I simply don't know. They may wake up and they may not. I cannot simplify the situation any more than that. I cannot determine exactly what will happen when I don't even know exactly what did happen."

"Albus' message says that Professor Snape reports that Ron cast Magnes on Harry and Hermione cast Certus on him after You-Know-Who dragged him away. There was some sort of a battle in which Avada Kedavra was cast at least three times, and when Professor Snape arrived at the scene, You-Know-Who was dead and these three were unconscious."

"The traces of the Loyalty Oaths are all over them. Honestly, fifth-years casting Loyalty Oaths!" The nurse's already-worried expression darkened. "They are reacting both to being hit by Dark Magic and to casting it."

"Surely they didn't cast it! Not all three! They wouldn't know how!"

"They certainly tried."

Suddenly, Professor McGonagall rounded on the heretofore silent third waking occupant of the hospital wing. "Sirius, how much do you know about their experiments with Loyalty Oaths? It must have been Remus' lessons that got them started."

Sirius, though he heard his former professor's words, was uncomprehending. He tried to arrange the sounds into a pattern, but he failed. The woman might as well have been speaking a language that he did not know through a fire that was improperly connected to the network. He knew, somehow, that he was expected to respond, but even if he had possessed the words to do so, he was not certain that he would have been able to make his voice work. He had been surprised when he had had so little trouble learning to speak after escaping Azkaban; perhaps he was making up for that now. Then, he had been focused. He had not needed to concentrate on anything but getting rid of Pettigrew, protecting Harry for once in all the years since he had made the promise…

He turned and fled the room. He made no conscious decisions as to where he walked; his only plan was to turn away from people. The corridors, though, were deserted. When he happened across an abandoned but not strictly secret room inside Ravenclaw Tower, he decided that this would do. He swung himself mechanically through a hole in a wooden platform that served as the entrance to the room. Instead of entering the room itself, he chose to crawl on hands and knees into an alcove and collapse, exhausted, to the floor.

The floor was not like the floor in Azkaban. It was warmer. Despite the thick layer of dust and dead spiders, it was cleaner. It was quieter; even without the ability to give meaning to words and sounds as a snow-like blanket began to wrap its way around his senses, Sirius knew that there was an absence of screams and pleas.

Of course, everyone had gone silent in Azkaban in the end.

He had gone silent rather quickly, once his curses of Pettigrew's name had outlived their usefulness and his cries for James and Lily had been spent. During the next decade, he might have shouted the occasional "shut up" or asked a new prisoner if he knew the date. Of course, there had always been the warped little pleasure of speaking to the Minister of Magic when he made his yearly visit to the fortress. And after he had uncovered Pettigrew's hiding place, he had begun to speak inadvertently, in his sleep, or so the reports said.

He had gone silent by choice. He had gone silent because he had had no one to talk to but the madmen he had worked to imprison. The madmen would not have been able to respond, in any case.

They all went silent in the end.

All. Went. Silent.

Sirius was silent now.

Too much.

The peace was surely worth it.

But it was too much.

Was that possible?

Did it matter? No. Possibility did not have to matter in the silence.

Unhinged._Black was unhinged by his master's defeat_. That was what they said. It was true, now. But Voldemort would rise again. Harry was only a baby and could not have killed an immortal wizard. No, that was wrong. What had happened? Had something happened again?

He had a wand! He had a wand now, and he could use it. He could use it on himself, and he would be dead, and James would be dead, and Pettigrew, and--

Remus. Where was Remus? Why had he thought of Remus? He hadn't thought of Remus in years, or days, was it? That was right. He had thought Remus was the spy. He was wrong.

"Sirius."

That voice was clear. Much more clear than the other voices. It must not be real. He did not have to answer it.

"Sirius. I need you to say something. Can you say something?"

He could not pull one word from the tangle that filled his mind. No, he could not say something.

"Can you look at me?"

His head turned. He hadn't turned it himself; someone had turned it for him. Remus. That was right. "Remus," he said aloud.

"Good. Are you listening to me? Harry is going to be all right."

"No, he's not."

"He is. I came inside after the forest was cleared and went into the hospital wing. Ron and Hermione have woken up already. Harry won't be far behind."

Sirius began to find language easier to comprehend.

"It might be nice for you to be there when he wakes up," Remus continued. "You might want to fall apart later instead of now."

"I'm not choosing to fall apart. I'm going mad. Azkaban."

"You've already used that this week."

"What?"

"You've already used Azkaban as a guilt trip once this week. You can't use it again until next week. That's the rule."

"You-- are-- being--"

Remus shrugged with mock casualness. "You agreed to it."

"I can't stand this. I can't stand the thought that Harry--"

"I know you can't. And you won't have to any longer. He's in the hospital wing. He's safe. Lord Voldemort is dead."

"I can't go see Harry. I'm--"

"You're not mad. There is a difference between thinking and doing things right after an incredibly stressful event and going mad over a long period of time."

_Condescending werewolf. He's right, though,_ Sirius thought affectionately as he struggled to stand up. "How did you find me? I thought Harry had the map?"

"Either I just know you very, very well or our own Loyalty Oath had something to do with it."

Either idea was equally appealing to Sirius, so they returned together to the hospital wing.

"There you are, Sirius. He's not awake yet, but he'll come around soon. Remus, Professor Dumbledore has Ron and Hermione in his office right now. Go join them," Madam Pomfrey instructed them as soon as they appeared.

"You aren't going to go see Dumbledore!" Sirius half-yelled at Remus from his position by Harry's bed.

"Keep your voice down!" Remus and Madam Pomfrey reprimanded as one.

"He's the one who put Harry here!" Sirius continued in a much lower but equally furious tone of voice. "And you'll notice _he_ isn't here. He always used to fawn over Harry like he cared about him every time Harry got hurt doing something Dumbledore should have protected him from, but now that Voldemort is dead, Dumbledore has no use for Harry!"

Remus, who thought it was quite possible that Sirius' outburst had awakened Harry, decided that it would be prudent to play Devil's Advocate right away instead of waiting for Sirius to calm down on his own. "I don't like that Harry was used as some kind of a weapon any more than you do, but Dumbledore has to be the one to tell the rest of the world what happened. He _has_ to be, Sirius. The other option is Cornelius Fudge."

Sirius sighed deeply. "Do you think everyone knows yet?"

"I know that the students here do. I know that Fudge does, and I _believe_ Dumbledore made a statement on wizarding radio. The celebrations should be starting soon."

"It's inappropriate."

"When does it become appropriate?"

Sirius made a face. "Go see him, then. See if he knows what happened."

Remus left the room after a single, swift backward glance. Mere seconds passed before Harry opened his eyes.

"Hi," said Sirius quietly.

"Hi." Harry's eyes wandered from side to side. Sirius handed his godson his glasses, but Harry did not put them on after accepting them. "Where are Ron and Hermione?" he asked, his face draining of what little color it had.

"They're fine," Sirius rushed to assure. "Talking with Dumbledore. And Remus."

Harry relaxed against his pillows. "I was so worried when I heard them. They shouldn't have been trying to fight Voldemort."

Sirius' previously serene expression was snuffed out. "No," he said, his voice dangerously calm. "They shouldn't have. Nor should you have." Sirius paused for a moment, and Harry awaited the explosion. It came. Sirius has passed through periods of panic and relief and had now moved on to anger.

"DO YOU HAVE ANY _IDEA_ HOW FRIGHTENED I WAS WHEN I REALIZED YOU WERE OUT THERE? DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA WHAT IT WAS LIKE TO SEE YOU LYING THERE AND NOT KNOW IF YOU WERE DEAD OR ALIVE?"

"I'm sorry," Harry whispered.

"YOU NEED A BIT MORE THAN 'I'M SORRY' THIS TIME, HARRY! LESS THAN_TWO HOURS_ AFTER YOU PUT YOURSELF IN DANGER IN LONDON, AND YOU SAID YOU WERE SORRY THEN, TOO! YOU DIDN'T _ACT_ LIKE YOU WERE SORRY, HARRY!"

"IT WAS THE ONLY THING I COULD DO!" Harry yelled back. "IT HAD TO STOP, AND I _STOPPED_ IT!"

"THAT'S NOT THE ISSUE HERE!"

"MAYBE IT SHOULD BE!"

"YOUR BEING THE BOY WHO LIVED DOES _NOT_ GIVE YOU FREE REIGN TO DO WHATEVER YOU WANT REGARDLESS OF WHAT THE PEOPLE TRYING TO PROTECT YOU TELL YOU!"

"You sound like Professor Snape," Harry observed in a normal tone of voice before realizing that such a comparison was not likely to improve Sirius' furious mood.

Sirius did not speak for a long beat. Then, with disbelief coating his face, he flatly replied "I think that's the most insulting thing anyone has ever said to me."

"Well, you do," said Harry sulkily. "He's always telling me that I strut around like I think I own the wizarding world. Then he says my dad was the same way."

"He didn't strut."

"That's what I always say, but Snape just gives me detention. He likes to insult my dad and then give me detention when I defend him. It's the same as when he reads humiliating _Daily Prophet_ articles about me in class, you know?"

"That's entirely out of--" Sirius broke off angrily, shaking his head.

"So is you yelling at me now!"

Sirius gritted his teeth and uttered his absolute least favorite words in the English language. "I was wrong." Then, as his throat un-strangled itself, he continued. "You scared me, you really scared me. There aren't very many people alive who can scare me or hurt me, but you're one of them. I shouldn't have started yelling at you as soon as you woke up, but--"

Harry cringed at the word "but."

"But the fact remains that you have no regard for what anyone tells you to do. You've never had parents, and believe me, I know that that's my fault; and you've had to deal with the realization that Dumbledore might not be all that the wizarding world thinks he is. You still had no business sneaking out of the castle and trying to get yourself killed."

"Can I talk now?"

"Go ahead."

"It's not as if I said 'I don't feel like getting a haircut today, I think I'll go duel with Voldemort instead.' I've told you before that I _didn't_ want to get myself killed. I just didn't want anyone else to die, either."

"The ends don't justify the means, Harry."

"Sometimes they do. Everyone knows that sometimes they do. The textbooks and the professors call the killing curse unforgivable, but the Ministry let its Aurors use it during the last war against Voldemort. You used the killing curse on Wormtail, didn't you?"

"Actually, I didn't. He tried to use it on me and I reflected it onto him. It was almost the same as what happened when Voldemort tried to kill you and your mother's throwing herself in front of the curse turned its power against him."

"But you would have used it that night in the Shrieking Shack. You and Remus, both."

"And we were very glad in retrospect that you stopped us."

"I wasn't."

"I know. And I tried to talk to you about it, but I don't think I got through to you. You've been using examples, so how about this one? After the first war, the entire wizarding community was in chaos. It was so full of fear and distrust and the need for vengeance that it simply didn't function. The Ministry had to do something to ensure the remaining population that it was safe to begin rebuilding, and living again. And everyone seemed to feel very safe after I was thrown in Azkaban without a trial.

"How about this one? After that, your parents were dead. Your godfather was indisposed. Despite explicit statements by your mother that she did not, under any circumstances, want you to be raised by your aunt and uncle, Dumbledore brought you there. You spent ten years living in a small, dark cupboard without ever having clothes that fit or as much as you wanted to eat or any kind of emotional or intellectual stimulation. You were left to think that your magical ability was a combination of coincidences and freakishness. You were hit. You were called names. But you came out of it in one piece, safe and perfectly able to attend Hogwarts. Just what Dumbledore wanted. Tell me, Harry, do the ends justify the means?"

Harry was shaking his head. "No," he said softly.

"No," Sirius repeated.

"It's not that simple, though. You know it isn't. You've said yourself that no one knows what would happen if one little decision was made differently. The whole time-turner regulation thing."

"I'm not claiming that any of this is simple." Sirius sighed. "My point is that you did something that I and everyone else who cares about you strictly forbade you to do. It seems that you have ended the life of one of the most powerful Dark wizards in history. So it becomes rather difficult for me to find any way to punish you because you ignoring me led directly to the triumph of Light Magic in a very important battle. You were thirteen when I met you and fifteen when I started spending time with you on a regular basis. I have almost no way of controlling you and I'm beginning to wonder if it's in your best interests for me to have full custody of you when you don't view me as an authority figure. However, as you said, this is not the time or the place for us to discuss this. Are you feeling all right?"

"Fine." Harry touched his forehead gingerly. "My scar doesn't hurt at all. I'd forgotten how that feels."

"Are you up to meeting with Dumbledore?"

"I don't want to."

"You may not have a choice."

"Can't we just pretend that I died?"

"Why would we want to do that?"

"So I wouldn't have to talk to Dumbledore and I wouldn't have to listen to the people out there."

"Out where?"

Harry waved his hand vaguely. "Outside Hogwarts. All of the people will be celebrating, like Remus said. I'll be the Boy Who Lived again. AND, it won't be like I acted like the ends justified the means because I'll be dead. I won't encourage anyone to use the killing curse. AND, if we pretend I'm dead I won't be able to go out in public or do anything wrong and you won't have to worry about punishing me so you can still be my father, I mean, godfather."

"I wasn't planning to let anyone take over that job from me, Harry."

"But it would be easier for you if everyone thought I was dead."

"That's not a very good tradeoff. Perhaps I was being melodramatic before. I suspect you would have gone out there under any circumstances."

"I would have," Harry said earnestly.

"Did you cast Avada Kedavra?"

"I tried to. Twice. I don't know exactly what happened, though. I was almost unconscious when I did it the second time." Sirius nodded. "Do you hate me now?" asked Harry, knowing the answer but wanting to hear it anyway.

"No. How can you ask that?"

"Because I wanted to hear you answer." Sirius smiled sadly and kissed the top of his godson's head. "I really am sorry for disobeying you. I'm sorry for scaring you."

"Forgiven. And I'm sorry for coming in here and yelling."

"Forgiven," Harry repeated with a smile of his own. "But… I _killed_ him. I cast a spell that I knew was meant to end someone's life and I _killed_ him. He'll never talk, or see, or even _breathe_ again because of me. I'm a cold-blooded killer now."

"If you had done it in cold blood, you would never have been able to cast that spell. You'd've had to have been furious." Harry shrugged, unconvinced. "You're also very young. You know that when I was about your age I would have been a killer and used Remus as a weapon if your father hadn't stopped me. The man, if we can call him that, whose life you ended would surely have killed you. Did he try to cast Avada Kedavra on you again?"

"Yes," Harry admitted.

"It will count as self-defense. You're not going to Azkaban for this. You'll probably get the Order of Merlin."

"I don't want the Order of Merlin."

"The ceremony only lasts a few hours and then you can put the medal away."

"How can you say one minute that the ends don't justify the means and the next minute that it's all right because I went looking for Voldemort knowing he'd cast Avada Kedavra on me so I'd be sort of right to return it?"

"As you said, it's complicated."

Harry and Sirius were saved from further debate by the entrance of Remus, Dumbledore, Ron, and Hermione.

"You're awake!" Ron and Hermione yelled together, and they scrambled to the side of his bed.

"What's all this?" asked Madam Pomfrey, emerging from her office at the noise created by the new arrivals. Her eyes fixed on Ron and Hermione. "Both of you! Back in bed! You never should have left." She looked darkly at Dumbledore.

"Yes, yes, get back in bed," Dumbledore agreed. Ron and Hermione put on a show of reluctance as they complied, but Harry noticed that they both looked very tired. He felt more than a little exhausted himself. "Now, Harry--"

"You cannot interrogate him as well, Headmaster!" Madam Pomfrey protested.

"I need to know what happened, and there is no time like the present," Dumbledore replied mildly. "He may remain here while we speak, however. I believe I have most of the story from other sources. Now, Harry, are you ready to answer a few questions?"

"Yes," Harry agreed. Dumbledore was not his favorite person at the moment, but Dumbledore would likely give him answers in return for answers.

"When did you first see Lord Voldemort?"

"Just after Malfoy and Crabbe and Goyle showed up. I saw him, and my scar exploded, and he said 'We meet again,' or something like that. I tried to get him away from Ron and Hermione. We argued about the first Death Eater I dueled."

"It was FLINT! Marcus Flint!" Ron interrupted. "The one you knocked off that tree-- it was Marcus Flint!"

"Did he-- did he live?" asked Harry nervously. There was no one else in the hospital wing.

"He is one of the Death Eaters being held in a secure location, yes. He regained consciousness and managed to get out of the range of the explosions. Please continue, Harry," said Dumbledore.

"Voldemort said something about having an opportunity to kill me… and I tried to kill him first." Harry lowered his eyes. "I tried to cast Avada Kedavra. But nothing really happened."

"That you could see," Ron interrupted again. "The Death Eaters felt it."

"Mr. Weasley, I would like you to remain quiet for a moment."

"Sorry," said Ron, not sounding as if he especially meant it.

At Dumbledore's nod, Harry continued. "He said I was ambitious and we argued about my parents. Then he tried to use the killing curse, and Ron and Hermione came in yelling something but I don't know what. Then I tried to use the killing curse again, and I lost consciousness."

"Thank you. That completes the picture. It is just as I thought."

"WHAT is just as you thought?" Sirius seemed to be even more impatient with Dumbledore than was Ron.

"First of all, would Mr. Weasley and Miss Granger care to explain their behavior to their friend?"

"We're just lying here in bed. Doesn't seem to be a lot to explain," said Ron, willfully misunderstanding the question.

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled, but his gaze was intense. "Explain what you were yelling that he was unable to hear?"

"Oh. Well, I used Magnes to find you. And Hermione used Certus in case it would help you somehow. And well, when you were saying good bye to Sirius this afternoon, we put Letum Simul on each other. That was what we yelled when we saw you."

"But how would that affect me? You never cast it with me. I would never have let _anyone_ cast that on me."

Ron shrugged. "That we don't know."

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled ever more. "This is very old, very imprecise magic. It is surrounded by many legends, and it is difficult to separate legend from fact because there are so few examples to work with. It is generally accepted by those who study Loyalty Oaths, however-- not that anyone has made a life out of studying Loyalty Oaths since Peter of Panga-- that they work in exponential proportions. If three people were to cast a spell with each other, the spell would not be twice as powerful, or three times as powerful. In effect, it would be raised to the third power."

"But we didn't cast the same spells," Harry protested.

"The agreement to be loyal is the same nonetheless. When you were hit by Avada Kedavra, you were protected by very old, very powerful spells. When you cast Avada Kedavra, you were able to draw on Ron's and Hermione's magic as well. Voldemort himself used a similar method to draw power when he was exhausted. That is why all three of you are showing signs of having performed a Dark spell that is beyond your ability."

"And that is why they ought to be asleep!" Madam Pomfrey interrupted.

Dumbledore, Sirius, and Remus eventually gave way to Madam Pomfrey's demands, and Harry, Ron, and Hermione found themselves falling asleep even before they were able to rehash the night's events.

They were kept sequestered in the hospital wing until the day that the Ministy's awards were to be presented. As Sirius had predicted, Harry was given the Order of Merlin, and so were Ron and Hermione. They accepted the awards together and then watched as the other recipients took their prizes. Many of the wizards and witches who were honored were known to Harry. Ministry members and Hogwarts professors and Aurors-- everyone who had been in Dumbledore's trusted circle-- were given Orders of varying degrees.

"They're handing out Orders like candy!" Harry overheard an old man exclaim.

"Why shouldn't they?" his companion asked.

"Why, indeed?" the man agreed with a laugh.

Harry could not help smiling as well.


	13. The Stands

Part 13

Harry scanned the crowd for Sirius for the umpteenth time. He met with no success. _This is easier on a broomstick_ he thought sourly. When playing Quidditch, Harry was always able to pick out the individual forms of his friends and classmates and professors. Now, though, he was lost in the massive throng.

He had played more Quidditch games on this pitch than he had observed; and he had been accompanied by Ron and Hermione to those matches at which he had been a spectator. He had not tried to find a place in the packed stands just before the match started.

Despite his temporary annoyance, he did not regret arriving late to the match. Anything that would prove to Sirius that Harry _did_ respect his advice and _did_ intend to do as he was told (except perhaps in extreme circumstances) was well worth any amount of inconvenience.

"HARRY!"

Harry's face lit up at the shout. "Hermione!" He attempted to force his way through the throng of wizards and witches in the direction of his friend's voice. This was a difficult task, but at last Hermione was able to grasp his hand with hers. She dragged him in the direction of a prime section of the stands. "Sirius got good seats for us. I think he threatened to hex someone," she explained.

"I did not!" Sirius protested as they arrived. "I gave everyone in my way my most charming smile and they couldn't wait to do anything that might make me happy. So because I could see that making me happy would make them happy, I graciously allowed them to give me these seats. Don't you believe me, Harry?" he asked with an innocent look.

"Yes, Sirius," Harry said dutifully.

"Did you talk to him?" Sirius asked in a lower voice as Hermione clambered up a few rows to whisper something to a giggling Parvati.

"Yes," said Harry.

"Feel any better?"

"No. I feel bad about different things," Harry admitted. "But I understand more."

X

Sirius had, in the weeks immediately following the Dark Lord's demise, withdrawn his comment that Harry's interests might be better served by a different guardian. However, Harry had been anxious to assuage whatever doubts Sirius might have about his respect for his godfather's authority and had told Sirius that he wanted to speak with Dumbledore. Speaking to Dumbledore would be, in a way, representative of Harry's learning to trust the adults in his life once more.

Harry had avoided Dumbledore as much as possible after discovering that Dumbledore had been pleased to learn that Voldemort had bled Harry, and that in fact Dumbledore had aided Voldemort in his quest to obtain Harry's blood. Now that he wanted to speak to Dumbledore again, though, Dumbledore was very difficult to find. He was traveling the country, explaining to crowds of witches and wizards that they were indeed safe and encouraging them to continue on with their lives and give their support to the Ministry. At last, Harry had gone to Professor McGonagall and requested her help in finding a time to meet with Dumbledore. The very next day, Harry had received an owl with his breakfast that suggested that Harry be at Dumbledore's office on the morning of the first Quidditch match to take place at Hogwarts since the fall of Voldemort.

Harry had rather nervously obliged.

As soon as he arrived, the doorway to Dumbledore's office opened without Harry's needing any passwords or spells.

"Right on time, Mr. Potter," said Dumbledore pleasantly as Harry approached him. "Do sit down."

"Thank you, Sir."

"I trust you've had a pleasant morning?"

"Yes, Sir. Have you?"

Dumbledore smiled. "It has been a busy few weeks, as I'm sure you'll agree. I just returned to Hogwarts this morning. I would sincerely hate to miss this Quidditch match." Harry forced a grin, and Dumbledore continued. "I'm sorry I missed the end of the year feast last night. And I must congratulate you on your performance on the OWL exams as well."

"You saw my marks?" asked Harry, surprised.

"I see the marks of every student who passes through this school, Mr. Potter."

"No, no, I know that. It's just that we only got the scores yesterday."

"I was anxious to see them. Your class has been put at a disadvantage because of recent events, and I was delighted to see how well you rose to the occasion. I was especially pleased by your scores, and the youngest Mr. Weasley's and Miss Granger's."

"I don't think anyone was shocked when Hermione got twelve. We all expected her to set some kind of record."

"No one was shocked to see you or Ron get ten, either."

"We were," Harry admitted.

"Did you find the tests that difficult?"

"I had no idea how I'd done when I took them. They weren't practical at all. When Professor McGonagall gives us an exam, she makes us change a guinea pig into a guinea hen with our wands. Professor Flitwick makes us demonstrate charms. But this was almost all written-- how you _would_ do things. A Muggle who had a good textbook could pass the OWLs."

"You're not the first person to argue that. But it is easier to ensure fairness in testing throughout different schools of magic and over a period of years if the tests are written and standardized. You'll get the opportunity to display your talent in a hands-on examination when you take the NEWTs."

"I can hardly wait," Harry half-groaned.

Dumbledore fixed him with a piercing gaze. "I don't believe that you asked to see me because you wanted to talk about OWLs, however."

"No, Sir."

"I further believe that you would like to discuss some of your meetings with Lord Voldemort."

"Yes, Sir."

Dumbledore waited for a moment before breaking the silence that stretched across the office. "I cannot read minds, Harry. You will have to ask me questions before I give you answers."

With an internal burst of annoyance, Harry found himself stumbling over his words. "What made you decide to set me up?" seemed badly phrased, so he decided on "Why didn't you tell me sooner that I could defeat Voldemort?"

"I had no way of knowing whether or not you could defeat Voldemort."

"Then why didn't you tell me sooner that his having my blood made him mortal to me?" Harry rephrased.

"I was concerned that you would do exactly what you did do. I never wanted to see you hurt. You have a long life ahead of you. I wanted you to be old enough to be beyond making impulsive decisions and educated enough to hold your own in a duel before you attacked the most powerful Dark wizard of recent times."

"Then why let me fight him when I was eleven? Or when I was fourteen?"

"He was very weak when you were eleven. You were in no real danger."

"I was unconscious for… for I don't even know how long!"

"But you regained consciousness."

"You told me then that you just got there in time to save me. Was that your plan?"

"Yes."

"There was no chance that you wouldn't have gotten there just in time to save me?"

"There is always a chance. The chance was infinitesimal in this case."

"And last year?"

Dumbledore sighed wearily. "Last year, many things went wrong."

"Did you know that the tournament was fixed?"

"No. I knew that surely someone or several someones was attempting to stack the odds in your favor, or they would never have placed your name in the Goblet of Fire."

"Did you know that Mad-Eye Moody wasn't Mad-Eye Moody?"

"I began to suspect as much partway through the year, yes. And I decided to allow events to play themselves out."

"And I ruined the plan by asking Cedric to take the Cup with me."

"You had no idea. Cedric had no idea. I had very little idea."

"Why did you decide not to tell me some of what you _did_ know? It was my life. And Cedric's." Harry was finally getting into the territory that contained the answers he desperately wanted.

"If you had known, you would have attempted to prevent Lord Voldemort from taking your blood."

"He wouldn't have gotten his strength back."

"Not from you, and not just then. But another wizard's blood could have made him strong and would not have carried with it your mother's mark."

"Why didn't you say that to me?"

"Your behavior would have been different. You might not have agreed with me. Surely your godfather would have done anything in his power to save you from harm, at any cost to any number of others." Dumbledore sighed once more, and looked very old. "It is one of the things I regret most in my life, but I did not feel that I had another option. I could not afford to view you as…" He stopped to search for a word.

"A person?" Harry supplied, hoping that he did not sound too confrontational or sarcastic. Dumbledore would not continue this conversation if Harry did not carefully calculate his words and control his emotions.

"I suppose that is fair." Suddenly, Dumbledore stood up and crossed the office to open a large cabinet. He removed a bowl which Harry had seen just once before. It was his pensieve. "Would you like to see some of what I saw during that year, Harry?"

Harry was taken aback. The pensieve was a very personal object; he could hardly believe that he had peeked inside of it once. He looked at Dumbledore, and at the bowl, and back at Dumbledore. He could see the regret and concern in Dumbledore's eyes, and decided that that was enough. "No, Sir," he said aloud.

"Are you certain?"

"I'm certain. May I ask one more question?"

"There is evidence to suggest that you are capable of it."

"Why did you try to be friendly to me? Why did you go out of your way to talk to me and make me trust you? I can see that you needed me to have my father's cloak, and you needed me to know certain things about Voldemort and my parents, but why act like you liked me?"

Dumbledore chuckled. "I do like you. You are intelligent, and you are loyal to your friends, and you put the needs of others above your own, and you do the thing that you think is right even when you're frightened. You have a sense of humor and a capacity to love despite a less than ideal childhood. I _hated_ the idea of manipulating you. I _detested_ it." Dumbledore's voice grew furious, and Harry had to remind himself not to flinch. "But I thought that the loss of some of my pride and some of your idealism were not an unrealistic price to pay for peace."

Harry gulped. "I suppose not," he said in a voice barely above a whisper.

"I especially believed that my controlling your role in this war was justified because, assuming you survived, no irreparable harm would be done. You'll go home with Sirius this summer. I'm sure you'll help each other heal and make each other very happy. You'll have many years for whatever bitter memories these past few years have given you to fade in comparison with the sweet memories."

They had spoken for only a few more moments before hastening to the Quidditch pitch.

X

Harry managed to explain all of this to an intently listening Sirius before the magically amplified announcer's voice interrupted them and Hermione jumped into the seat on Harry's other side.

The commentator was a wizard who often announced Quidditch games on wizarding radio, but Lee Jordan was seated beside him to provide extra information. Lee began the introductions.

"INTRODUCING TEAM WEASLEY," he shouted to the delighted cheers of much of the crowd. "AT KEEPER, NEXT YEAR'S GRYFFINDOR CAPTAIN, RON WEASLEY! AT BEATER, SIX-YEAR GRYFFINDOR STARTERS AND PROPRIETORS OF WEASLEYS' WIZARD WHEEZES, FRED AND GEORGE WEASLEY! AT SEEKER, THE _LEGENDARY_ FORMER GRYFFINDOR CAPTAIN, CHARLIE WEASLEY! AT CHASER, FORMER HEAD BOYS BILL AND PERCY WEASLEY, AND THE CUNNING MIND BEHIND THIS MATCH, GINNY WEASLEY! FAR AND AWAY THE MOST ATTRACTIVE MEMBER OF HER FAMILY, BUT DO YOURSELF A FAVOR AND DON'T SAY SO IN FRONT OF HER BROTHERS!"

Harry watched as Fred and George shouted what he strongly suspected were obscenities in Lee's direction. The rest of the crowd screamed wildly until the commentator interrupted to introduce the team of Ravenclaw graduates.

"Ron is the Quidditch captain next year?" Sirius asked, turning to Harry.

Harry nodded. "I didn't tell you that?"

"No, or I probably wouldn't be asking."

"Yes, he is. He's the only returning player besides me, and I don't think I'm properly obsessed with Quidditch to handle the job."

Sirius raised an eyebrow. "You aren't?"

"I'm much more comfortable being the one who gets kicked out of bed for practice at the crack of dawn on a Saturday than being the one who does the kicking."

"That I can understand."

"Ron and I talked about doing it together, and I'm obviously going to have to have loads to do with choosing new players, but I think it's better if we only have one captain. And he's a better choice. I just play for fun, mostly. I didn't grow up obsessing about it."

Sirius nodded, and pointed skyward. "I can tell you who one of your new players should be."

"Ginny?" Harry guessed.

"She's a marvelous flyer."

"She knows Quidditch inside out, too. She'd have to, living with Ron and the twins and Charlie. The only problem is that Ron won't think it's safe for her to play. None of them would have let her play today if this whole thing hadn't been her idea."

X

The day that Harry, Ron, and Hermione had left on the Easter adventure that had culminated with the battle that had ended the reign of Lord Voldemort, Ginny had had an argument with a Ravenclaw chaser and had sworn that she and her brothers would be able to beat a team made up of the best Ravenclaw had ever graduated. She had not planned on having the opportunity to prove her point.

Then the fateful battle with Voldemort had occurred. Naturally, Ron's hand on the Weasley family clock had crept to "mortal peril" (as it had all too often since Ron had befriended Harry). Ron's parents had rushed to Hogwarts as quickly as they could, and had stormed the hospital wing soon after Professor Dumbledore had told Harry, Ron, and Hermione why they had been able to defeat the Dark Lord.

The three reluctant practitioners of the killing curse were roused from near-sleeping states by Molly's cry of "Ron!" and Arthur's quieter but no less frantic "Are you all right?"

"Fine," Ron mumbled as he jerked himself out of his sleepy state. His mother nearly smothered him with a hug, and then gave Harry and Hermione the same treatment.

When she had assured herself that her son and his friends were in roughly the same number of pieces as they had been when she had last seen them, she said in calm but edged voice "Will you three ever manage to make it through a school year without ending up here?"

"We're planning on doing that next year, Mum," Ron said with an unconcerned jauntiness reminiscent of the twins when they were trying to worm their ways out of trouble.

She shook her head, obviously not in the mood to reprimand Ron but still passionately intense. "I shouldn't have given you permission to leave the castle."

Ron, who had been lazing against his pillows, sat bolt upright. "That's got nothing to do with it! We came _back_ to the castle just fine. We went out again."

Presently, Ginny, Fred, and George flew into the room and provided a distraction by describing the celebration in the Great Hall. In the face of their glee and relief, even Mrs. Weasley could not remain angry.

Then Ron made the mistake of telling Fred that the only reason he was so tired was that he had, by means of a magical connection to Harry, cast Dark magic that was beyond his capabilities.

Mrs. Weasley's lips set into a thin line.

"You cast Dark magic?" she asked in a hooded voice.

Ron's eyes strayed nervously across the room, and Harry suddenly felt like an intruder, even though he was the one who had done the actual casting of the killing curse.

"It was the only thing we could do," Ron protested.

"This is what your father and I have fought against all our lives."

"The Ministry lets its Aurors use the Unforgivable Curses," Ron argued. Harry sincerely hoped that this line of logic would work better on Mrs. Weasley than it had on Sirius.

"YOU are not an Auror."

Ron muttered something that sounded suspiciously like "not yet" under his breath. In a louder tone of voice, he said "Neither is Percy."

"Leave your brother out of this!" Mrs. Weasley snapped.

"Why?" asked Ron. "You've spent half your life telling me to be more like him."

"Percy had special permission to cast that spell! He was working on Ministry business, just like the Aurors."

"It wasn't Ministry business. It was Dumbledore's business!"

Mrs. Weasley began to swell, and Ron realized that he had pushed his mother too far. His complexion became tinged with green. Mr. Weasley, though, took pity on his youngest son. "The two have become rather interchangeable as of late," he admitted. "But nevertheless, Ron, you mustn't keep running off into dangerous situations like this. I didn't like it when Percy did it, either, but Percy is much closer to being an adult than you are. He has a career and he made a decision. _You_ are still in school. Do you really expect not to learn anything during the next two years?"

"Yes. I mean, no."

"But it's truly over!" Ginny interrupted, doing her sisterly duty of distracting her parents from her brother. "And Percy can come home!" Her face shone brilliantly. "He's in Montreal and he was helping with awareness of You-Know-Who in Canada, but he's coming back now." The Secret-Keeper spilled the secret because she could.

This revelation made Mrs. Weasley's expression transform almost instantly from outrage to nearly tearful relief.

The Weasley siblings exchanged looks. None of them wanted to watch their mother cry; so George used a failsafe method for diffusing an emotional situation. He began to discuss Quidditch. "It's good that Percy is coming back," he announced, "because he promised that he'd play Quidditch with us if we all made it through the war. Didn't he, Fred?"

"I believe he did," Fred returned, falling easily into his twin's rhythm of speech. "Did you hear him say that, Ginny?"

"Yes, he said that." Ginny smiled. "So now we can all play against the Ravenclaws like I promised stupid Frances McCourt?"

"What did you promise stupid Frances McCourt?" asked George.

Ron answered for Ginny. "They had a . . . _disagreement_ and Gin told Frances that we could beat a team made up of the best Quidditch players that ever graduated from Ravenclaw."

"We could, too," George agreed. He turned to Fred. "Couldn't we?"

"Of course!" Fred claimed forcefully. "And remember when we first made the team, in second year? Remember how the captain knew that wizard who calls Quidditch games on wizarding radio? You think he'd be able to help us track down our victims?"

Moments later, when Madam Pomfrey shoed the Weasleys (except for Ron) from the hospital wing, Fred and George were still talking animatedly about how best to back up Ginny's bragging.

"That's two down," said Ron with a sigh as his family left the room. "Bet you're looking forward to telling your parents, Hermione."

Hermione looked pensive. "I wasn't planning on telling them. At least not in detail."

"You can't _not_ tell them," Ron protested.

"Why not?" she challenged. "They don't see the _Daily Prophet_ or hear wizarding radio. They have some books, and they know who You-Know-Who was, and they know who Harry is, but they won't know details about this unless I tell them. It'll be better if I don't. Better if I just say that the wizarding world is out of danger, and don't explain how. They won't have to panic, like your parents just did, or like Sirius did."

"Sirius didn't panic," Ron scoffed. Sirius had become something of a hero to Ron.

"Yes, he did," Hermione corrected earnestly. "Before we woke up. I could see it on his face."

"You could not. He's never panicked before, and Harry's _always_ getting in trouble."

Harry snorted. Ron and Hermione ignored him, and Hermione continued talking. "Sirius has seen Harry in trouble before, but this time he didn't have a chance to be prepared. And he _told_ Harry not to go after You-Know-Who, _and_ he didn't figure out that Harry meant to do it anyway. He was afraid Harry was going to die and he was mad that Harry wouldn't listen to him. Maybe he's afraid he can't take care of Harry if he can't make him listen. Plus, he just found out that You-Know-Who is dead, and that's a shock because except when he was in Azkaban he doesn't remember a time when You-Know-Who wasn't gaining power. And Azkaban's another thing. He was _tortured_ for _twelve_ years. Maybe he could push that to the back of his mind when he was worried about dementors and You-Know-Who, but it must be harder now. So _I_ think he was really upset. And I don't want _my_ parents to be really upset."

Ron could not argue with Hermione's analysis of the situation.

For that matter, neither could Harry. He began to agree even more strongly when he accidentally caught a glimpse of Narcissa Malfoy, who had traveled to Hogwarts to collect her son's belongings. He had not liked the woman the only other time he had had the misfortune to meet her. This time, he had not seen the woman's face; but he imagined that she must feel utterly bereft. She had lost her husband and her only child in one swift blow.

Thus, Harry had been turning Draco's death over and over in his mind when the year-end feast rolled around.

Indirectly, he had been the cause of Draco's death. He had not suggested that Draco take a portkey and watched as he was murdered, but he had uttered the curse that had caused the explosion that had probably killed Draco.

_They all chose to be there, _he reminded himself. _They knew what they were getting into. Voldemort didn't have to tie their lives to his, either._

Ron muttered many of these same things under his breath as Professor McGonagall, speaking for the absent Professor Dumbledore, gave a speech hauntingly similar to the one Dumbledore had given a year earlier and proposed a toast to Draco.

Harry unwillingly recalled watching Draco during the previous year's feast. Draco had refused to raise his goblet to Cedric as Cho and many of Cedric's friends had cried.

_Am I less upset about him than about Cedric because we didn't get along?_ Harry wondered guiltily. _I don't think so. I don't want to think so. Draco was almost as big a part of my life as my friends. He was my arch enemy, and they say that arch enemies always have some things in common. Merlin, that's true of Sirius and Snape. Of course, Remus was right when he told me that comparing Sirius and Snape is something that everyone does mentally and but that no one should do out loud for fear of getting hexed. But Draco and me: we looked like our fathers and had to answer to our fathers' legacies, we were the main candidates for Head Boy… Cedric would have been Head Boy…_

This year, the Slytherins were the ones who looked somber and ill-- many were even crying-- as several Gryffindors refused to raise their glasses.

"Pick your drinks up!" Harry snapped quietly at the offending members of his house. He tried to make the light of the Great Hall glint off of his prefect's badge.

With slightly guilty expressions, Harry's housemates toasted Draco Malfoy. They remained subdued even as McGonagall announced that Gryffindor had won the inter-house championship.

_Am I less upset about Draco because this is the second time? In a way, I'd actually like to talk to Dumbledore tomorrow morning before the match. And right after the match, I'll be going home. With Sirius. Is it all right for me to be happy?_

X

"Harry? Are you even watching?" Sirius' voice jerked Harry back to the present.

"Er. Ginny just scored," Harry guessed. The Gryffindor section of the crowd was cheering wildly.

"It was Bill," Hermione corrected from Harry's other side and Remus corrected from Sirius' other side.

"Well, Ginny set up the play."

"So she did," agreed Sirius. "But I think you were right. I think you aren't so interested in Quidditch that you should be captain." He leaned in closer to Harry so that no one else could hear him. "What's wrong?"

"Are you going to meet me at King's Cross this evening?"

"Of course! Unless you don't want to ride the Express. I always thought it was a good way to end the year. I assumed you'd want to congratulate Ron on this game."

"I will."

"They never delayed the Express for a Quidditch match when _I_ was here," Sirius continued with playful resentment.

"Times change," said Harry with a smirk. Ron chose that moment to make a magnificent save, and Harry jumped to his feet to cheer, suddenly secure in the knowledge that times were changing for the better.

**The End**

**Note of Revision**:_Reposted, with much cringing, November 2007. Formatting has been improved and a few typos have been corrected, but the story has not been brought into compliance with canon (not that it could be). _

_Hopefully I will never again look at my "three-year summer" fics now that they have had their polish. This one wasn't quite as bad as I remembered it being—I was pleasantly surprised by my Snape and Pansy scene toward the end, which I'd forgotten about and which I like. It also amuses me that when I posted this before the publication of __Order of the Phoenix, __Half-Blood Prince__, and __Deathly Hallows__, I received many, many reviews about how awful/wrong it was to imply that Dumbledore would ever manipulate or risk Harry to try to defeat Voldemort. Greater good, anyone? _

_Otherwise, the last three books brought this so far from canon that it's almost intolerable to read, especially considering the flaws it already had. (When I originally wrote this, I got bored partway through and cut large chunks of plot out, making the story about half the length I originally envisioned. I know it shows.) But I'll leave it and my other older fics up as a curiosity._

_Thank you for all of the reviews over the years—read and appreciated! _


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